


Starboard Home

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Confessions, First Time, M/M, POV First Person, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-06
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are still some loose ends to be tied up at the setting of the sun upon Elvenkind's time on Middle Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starboard Home

It all happened so very long ago. The horse was long dead. The fun of the journey itself long over.

And between the two of us, there were plenty of other instances that I could have recalled to mind to mull over, to concentrate on. There was a very entertaining trip to the Greenwood with surprisingly little danger involved that we still laughed about, not to mention all the very great and heroic deeds that he had accomplished, and all the very great and heroic deeds that I at least had witnessed.

There were the wonders of Lorien that I might dwell on, the pleasures of my homeland, the recent deeds of so many men and others, or even -- Valar forbid -- all manner of duties and preponderances that I might fill my head with here at home.

But I was in a place (not location) I’d never been before, a place suddenly indescribable and indefinable. And the lay of it was such that I had ensconced myself in a room that was not my own, cut myself off from the rest of the diminishing House, and did very little but lounge about, indulging in memories and questioning why I did so.

= = = = =

The war was over. The Wars of the Rings, as I thought of the whole mess, were done with. The One Ring had been destroyed. With it, the remaining rings slowly lost whatever power they had retained. And my dear Lord, poor thing, had thought himself to be so secretive. They never revealed the rings, after that time so long ago. But it did not take a great scholar of history to piece things together. I am old and have seen much. When I put two and two together, I nearly always come up with four. Elrond had one of the rings.

I’d never addressed the subject, even when I thought it might be of vital importance to do so. He never confided in me, and so I trusted him to use his own intellect to add things up to his own conclusions, which had always seemed to work thus far. But now, the situations were vastly different.

I had to go over all of it in my head, again and again, to be sure I had it right.

So much had happened that I, somewhere along the line, had stopped believing would ever come to be.

Firstly, the end of the Ring. I thought of it as a decent step toward the end of evil for a full three days before my usual logic caught up to me. Evil would always exist. So would the apparently opposing force of Good. Like shadow and light, one could not subsist without the other. That was something I had always firmly believed in. I had always believed that even if the worst should happen, there would always, _always_ be some good left in the world. How could anyone live if they didn’t believe that?

At the same time, I had long believed the Ring forever lost. When we discovered that it wasn’t, some fearful part of me believed that the Ring would never be destroyed, that it would be lost again or fall to some other hand and disappear for a time.

It was not that I did not trust the Fellowship, that motley bunch we threw together so few years ago, nor was it faithlessness in the race of hobbits; I had seen equally astonishing feats accomplished in my long life. I don’t to this day know what it was within me that found some kinship of immortality with the Ring. It had not always existed. Why did I think that it always would?

Then, it happened. That particular evil was ended and every Elf felt the earth shift beneath their feet.

I watched the world about me.

What had been a slow fading, a fading of centuries, rapidly spun out of control into a full-blown collapse.

I maintained my contacts, my various sources. Elrond still talked to us then. This was just after the coronation and wedding, when we had returned to Imladris. This was when I felt my world change in a way I had never previously conceived. The most astonishing revelation was that it was no longer ‘my world.’ And very possibly, it never had been.

The information came swiftly then, but failed to register for many days.

The magic of the Greenwood was fading. Of course, most of the magic there in what had been so cruelly, if accurately, renamed Mirkwood, had been an evil or at least malevolent sort of magic and I had faced it myself more times than I cared to recount. But it had simply faded away. The previously sinister wood in which even the eldest ranger could lose himself had lightened and thinned and was nothing more than a forest with nothing more than your average, everyday quarry. The spiders, that had so long plagued the woodland peoples, seemed to fade to nothing. To disappear. There was no magic of any kind left in that land, and what people still remained were streaming in great long lines of pale elven light to the west.

The magic of beloved Lothlorien was fading. More tragic, most definitely, than news of what could once again be called the Greenwood: the Mellyrn were dying. Not quickly, but noticeably. The golden leaves had dulled to nothing more than a dreary grey, silver trunks wearied to a lifeless brown. The latest guesses supposed that a hundred years hence, no mallorn would yet stand in Middle Earth. Galadriel, who I guessed still held one of the three Elven rings, would soon leave, taking her own magic with her. Celeborn, I had heard, would stay. He was intent on shepherding the last of his people to the shores, when their day came.

Then there was Imladris.

Sweet land of rivers, roaring and placid and everything that waters ever could be. Sweet land of wildflowers and gently tilled fields unfolding in the Valley’s secreted depths. Sweet land of wooded forest blessed with a multitude of lively trees and spirited game and secret places of fairy rings and dainty dew-dropped meadows.

Sweet land that had been my home. For four thousand years. More. Though the span was only a portion of my life, I did not consider it a small portion. It was no proverbial blink of the eye or paltry minutiae of life. To me, my time in Imladris was an epoch, an era in and of itself that had helped to define me even when I already considered myself old and set in my ways. Here, in this sweet land, this hidden Valley, this sanctuary, this haven, every name ever given it, in Rivendell as the Men so fondly called it, I had found a wealth of life and learning, of friendships and knowledge, of difficulties and triumphs. I had found a second youth in a way. Not in the early years, nor the great span of fear-shadowed time that followed, but after my Lord’s marriage. After the birth of the children. There was a time when I fancied myself to be truly happy. I looked back on that time with a fondness rivaled only by my remembrances of my family and my closest friends.

But after after after. After the death of the Ring, the death of the power of the three rings, after after after. Imladris, too, began to fade.

In a far more spectacular fashion than anything seen in any other Elven realm.

We’d never seen anything like it.

I do not remember the date, knowing only that it was spring. I remember that particularly clearly because Imladris had been noticeably enshrouded by an eternal autumn for many years. One could walk a line about the place if one so chose, and Glorfindel and I had done so on one occasion, keeping the green of springtide at one’s left hand and the golden crisping autumn leafdrop at one’s right hand. Deosil we walked the magical border, knowing that all within the circle was slowly fading away. But after the fall of the Ring, how much more quickly it was to crumble.

There were but a few hundred of us remaining at the time. Tremors moved the land unlike anything we’d ever known in Imladris. At the first crack of paving and rock, we fled the buildings, standing in the courts and gardens, gazing in terror at the wreckage. Apparently, the buildings of Imladris existed not only by some law of physic, but also a law of magic. A law that had been broken.

We were, in many ways, fortunate.

There was not a single death, not a single injury, not even a scratch. And it was, certainly, not all the buildings. The huts of the craftsmen, the stables and armories and barracks and all such outlying more recent construction stood unwaveringly. The Hall of Fire was untouched, not a stone out of place. The Hall of Fire, as we had long believed, proved to be the Heart of Imladris. If one thought of the House, the Last Homely House, one excluded the huts and stables and armories and barracks. One included only what was entwined in that rich assemblage of white arches and leafy cornices. The Last Homely House was a body that stretched up and down the Valley, connected by various veins and arteries in the form of white stone paths and roofed walkways and white bridges that, in a mist, seemed no more than a gossamer apparition. The Hall of Fire lay, more or less, in the center of the organic mess of our home. It was but the most distant tips of fingers and toes that fell to a crumbling mass that day.

Awesome to watch, no matter how horrid, the collapse of ancient wood and stone. Awesome in an aesthetic display, as though a light wind had knocked down a house of cards. It was little louder than that. Felt more than heard by the last few remaining inhabitants gawking in childish wonder.

So, we weren’t quite astonished the second time it happened. The same trembling warning, the same frightened flight, the same stupefied observance. No one injured. Only our faith in our home. Like a slowly dying body. Hands and feet, wrists and ankles.

Episode after episode, Imladris was literally falling apart as these last few years strung themselves out in an absurdly long breath of time.

This was when my madness began.

Madness. Not accurate. But I have no other word for it. What else should one call the state of living with giddy relief that flutters in one’s throat alongside the gravest melancholy sitting like a stone in one’s belly? I was absurdly thrilled at the fall of Imladris. It meant that I was no longer tied there. Even if I stayed yet a little longer. (After the first tremors, there was a mass exodus from the Valley unlike anything I’d ever seen. After the first tremors, but one-hundred and thirty-two of us remained steadfast in our home. After the first tremors, the continuous stream of visitors from the Greenwood and Golden Wood welcomed themselves to the distant huts long abandoned, or to the branches to wait out a brief rest in the temporary flets, or to the simple hard ground. No visitor stayed overnight in the House. Only we, we residents remained.)

But my madness, my sheer giddy madness was matched only by Glorfindel’s and exceeded only by Elrond’s. Glorfindel, dear Glorfindel, Slayer of Balrogs and of demons of the night, dear Glorfindel, dearest of friends. It was after the first tremors, the first crumbling buildings that the madness took him as well, in its way.

We stood side-by-side, in a vegetable patch as it happened, hip deep in freak tomato plants straining heavenward with their heavy fruit. Side-by-side, unable to tear our eyes from the sight (ever so much more impressive than the sound) of the library folding in upon itself and dying a swifter death than any house of learning should. Glorfindel felt my pain, I know he did. There were few artifacts of importance still remaining in that poor emptied warehouse, but how many hours added up to how many years of my life had I lived and reveled there, in that the tallest peak of our home, in that tall hall, that echoing chamber that had served as meeting room, schoolhouse, study lounge, counseling center, secret place, whispering haven, office, archive, and -- verily -- my home? We watched the dust rise, still unable to look elsewhere. Then I realized his hand was groping for mine, and I tightly took hold of him. There was so much more comfort in that gesture than I think even he knew. It meant so much to me.

I do not know how long it took, but we did not move until the last of the dust drifted quietly in the air and there was nothing more than a pile of rubble where once had been the greatest place -- in my not-so-humble opinion -- that ever stood on Middle Earth.

Then, when there was nothing left moving, when even the dust had settled, then we stirred. We turned to face one another. We still held hands and I do not know whose grip was the tighter. There was something in his eyes I’d never seen before. I might describe it as a spark, though no word will suffice for the glint in his eyes had nothing to do with tears or color or light or any other physical thing. It was the spark of madness.

I can only imagine my eyes reflected the same.

It was a madness of knowledge, the sort that comes completely and without any warning whatsoever.

The place that we had called home for so very long would not remain our home much longer at all.

We might yet witness the fall of much more.

The time to travel west was at hand for us.

But we would fight it.

Because Elrond was not yet leaving. Our Lord was staying. And so would we. We would not journey until he did.

But Glorfindel and I had different connections with our home, and different ways of bidding it farewell.

I spoke first. It astonished neither of us, even though it was nearly always he who had the first say in everything. (Though rarely the last, I thought to myself at the time.) I spoke, though I suppose I needn’t have. We knew each other too well by then. And when I did speak, it was in the half-conversational shorthand way we had developed. “How long?” I asked him. Because I needed, so dearly needed, to know.

But his answer, trembling as he said it, was nothing less than the truth and nothing more than a fuel to my swiftly growing madness, though I already knew what he was going to say. “I don’t know.”   
“Asfaloth?” I asked. I meant ‘are you taking him?’

“It’s time.” That would be a ‘yes.’

“Elrond?” I asked. I meant ‘what should I tell him?’

“Nothing.” That would be a ‘I don’t know.’

Then he looked down at where our hands still met, desperate and clinging. We did not understand it at the time.

We were fools, but we did not know it. (Fools who know they are fools are wise, as someone would later tell me. But we were only foolish.)

Then he left. I stood among the tomatoes and watched him leave. Although I already suspected it was a mistake. How much of one would take me several years yet to learn.

= = = = =

He left after that first magical dissolution. I knew it was something he had to do. Something that would take him years. Something for which his disappearance would be understood and respected and unquestioned.

Yet at the same time, there was a voice bubbling up inside me that protested, saying not ‘he’s left’ or ‘he’s left his Lord’ or ‘he’s left his home’ or ‘he’s left Imladris.’ This voice, this nagging insistent almost churlish voice inside said, ‘He’s left me!’

My madness was a quiet one, barely visible to any who might be choosing to look.

I started counting days again. It was an astonishment to me when I realized fifty-six days in that I was doing so. There had been times in my life, as in any Elf’s life, when I had not bothered to count the years. There had been times when the passing of months had indeed been that blink of the eye, when days were but a heartbeat or a sigh. There had been times when even the passing of winter to spring seemed to matter little and little difference was seen. Yet here I was, feeling my age not for the first time but more acutely than ever, desperately counting the days! Like a slip of a lad counting down the approach of a holiday. But I was not counting down. I was counting forward. And I had no idea when my count would cease. And as absurd as it sounds, it took me those first two months to realize not only that I was counting at all, but what I was counting towards. Nothing so significant as to do with land or Lord, but only with the reunion of a beloved friend. I counted the days until I saw Glorfindel again.

I realized, of course, that many possibilities stood before me. Perhaps he had said his farewell to Imladris and intended to await Elrond’s arrival at the Harbor. For when Elrond would go, I would surely follow. Perhaps he could not wait; the graying of the world too swift and fearful, perhaps he would set off a’ship before us, and then we would not see one another again until we stood on far different lands. The last ‘perhaps’ was too abominable to contemplate: the world was improved, but still not safe. Perhaps, in his solitary wanderings of the wild, he would not return at all, choosing for whatever reason to stay in a mortal world, or perhaps a crueler fate far yet awaited him, and he would die by some evil hand without ever saying goodbye to me.

When I realized how morbid I was becoming, I set to work at once.

I could lay rest my fears, because every Elf who ever existed maintains a connection with something greater than themselves, though I rarely chose to give it name, and that Something Greater reassured me that I would see Glorfindel again, and that it would be in the House. That when he returned (and he would) that the House (at least a part of it) would still stand. And we would be reunited. And we would follow our Lord to the Sea and to whatever awaited us beyond that.

I wept at the thought, crying true tears for the first time in a very, very long time.

= = = = =

There is a gift. It is one that may be inherent or learned. I had to work quite hard and long to learn it. It is the gift of laughing at oneself.

As a child, I had been a perfectionist. I did not speak, until I was certain I could do it properly. I did not walk, practicing only when alone the art of pulling myself to my feet and putting one before the other, until I excelled at it. I could not abide people laughing at me. And it was, sadly, nearly a millennium before I understood that great gift of being free and confident enough to look back at my own actions and laugh at myself.

It has since grown to be a favorite pastime, one which I willingly share with others, and one which never fails to amuse me.

So as I would stand among the tomatoes weeping, I knew that one day I would look back and laugh.

= = = = =

I counted six-hundred days, to the very number, and everyday that I counted, I set myself a task. I did much. Mostly, I conversed with the last of the Greenwood who were coming through. That day, I met with Thranduil. It was a revelation.

It was a revelation, for every other time I had ever met the Elf, I had addressed him with such ridiculous title of ceremony as ‘sire’ ‘my liege’ and even ‘your magnificence.’ But as I stood in the wood, greeting the Elves, I saw Thranduil, and he did not appear a king. Gone was any royal sign. No velvet nor lace, no crown nor insignia. He was dressed as I had once seen his son, arriving muddied and weary at Imladrian gates but a few years previous. He was taller than Legolas had been, slightly broader in the shoulders, with a bit of a curl to gold-tinted hair. The eyes were the same though, if a bit older. (I could always tell, just looking into an Elf’s eyes, their age. Not to the year of course, but to the war. Elrond always told me it was a gift.) And Thranduil, though far younger than myself, still carried the look of one who had seen much. ‘One who had seen much.’ That doesn’t nearly cover it, does it?

Ah. Well.

He stood among the Elves of the Greenwood, just outside the unnatural border of the land, in the summer of the surrounding forest. And there was nothing at all to set him apart. Except his eyes.

And though he carried his troubles with him (as we all did) it was apparent to me that his heart had, at a very deep level, been lightened. For he smiled when he saw me, a thing he had never done. I had never seen the Mirkwood King smile. Leer, on occasion. Smirk, definitely. Grimace, constantly. But never such a smile. An understanding sparked between us.

For the first time, I thought of my own appearance. He was different to me, and I must have looked different to him. Dressed so simply I was. Gone the circlet of office, the robes of any Imladrian scholar (which we had worn even when traveling.) Instead, my hair was a thick braid down my back, my shirt of simple pale cotton, breeches of tough brown leather, and house shoes nearly worn through from my constant traipsing about.

Things were different.

I approached him and bowed as ever I had, but my only word of greeting was, “Thranduil.” Titles were no longer necessary or relevant. The Greenwood was no longer his; that may have been part of it. But not all.

Shocks were coming in great number in those days. For his smile brightened at that word from me and he said my name in turn, in a lustrous lusty baritone. “Erestor!” He opened his arms wide and embraced me as one would a long lost brother. I returned the unexpected hug.

Then the most remarkable thing happened (as though none of this had been remarkable enough.) He withdrew, gently holding my shoulder in his left hand and he kissed my mouth.

Elves of common station and close regard once greeted one another in such a manner, and that was what this had been. In a way, we were meeting one another for the first time.

And once his people were comfortable, dangling from the low flets or camping easily on the Valley ground, Thranduil and I sat together, apart from the others, and we talked. He needed comforting words, which I supplied. Words that assured him about his son. I told him to be brave, and that I knew that would be easy for him. I told him he would see his son again. I knew it was not a lie, and he did too, though how we knew such a thing we did not know.

Then we laughed, about any number of trivial things, and were more than happy at the frivolity.

And in the morning, though he had not slept, he led his people west.

= = = = =

That was the morning I thought to myself, ‘Six-hundred and one.’ And that was the morning I ceased performing any duties whatever.

= = = = =

Madness comes more easily, far more naturally, when one does nothing. I let it. This easy, giddy, mournful song of insanity. Neither reasonable nor passionate, but integral. It was a mental muttering that would fluctuate and would not cease, I knew, until Glorfindel returned. ‘Returned to me,’ that little voice popped up again and insisted. I scoffed at the voice. For Glorfindel would NOT be returning to ME, but to Imladris and to its Lord.

Then, ignoring the voice completely, I argued to myself in a different tone, ‘Take hold of yourself Erestor, for what madness is this? Why should you be so insufficient without Glorfindel? He is but a friend! A good and a true and a close one, but only a friend.’

I knew this was quite a good point.

But the madness stayed just the same.

= = = = =

So, what DID I do? I discovered the indulgent joy of a lazy, slothful existence. Something which never in my life had I spoiled in for more than a few moments. It was decadent in a disgusting way. For we had great stores of all manner of things in Imladris that, when the time came, would simply stay here and rot away. One of these was the store of wine.

All my life I’d tasted the fermentation of grape. In Imladris I had a cup or two nearly every night, with dinner and in the Hall of Fire.

Now, I kept the bottles in my room, stacked in a line against the wall in alternating colors of glass.

All my life, too, I’d eaten fairly well, knowing starvation rarely and only in times of great need. In Imladris, I had never hungered. I ate my two meals a day and was content.

Now, I had to prepare my own food. (The tremors continued, more buildings fell, and only thirteen of us stayed, determined to remain with our Lord to the end.) There were no more servants, no callow youths to work out their share of Imladris maintenance. So I was up and about yes, eating whatever and whenever I wished.

All my life I had devoted to the service of another. For the last however-many millennia, it had been Lord Elrond, and never was there a more deserving Elf, I thought. My loyalty was great, I knew. I would not know how great.

Now, however, I spared not a moment in any duty. No letter writing nor studying nor lecturing nor thinking overmuch about anything. Remembering, yes. Thinking though, not so much.

So, what DID I do? I bathed everyday in the bathhouse, until it, too, fell away amid the soft trembles, which we thirteen Elves had long grown used to. After that, I bathed in the river. It was never too cold. I prepared food yes, but it was unbelievably easy to fill one’s belly by simply walking (not even walking, strolling really) through the unkempt orchards or overgrown gardens. By the time I reached the thousandth day, I never wore more than a thin robe. I had stacks of apples and wine in my room. I had piles of silly novels and poetry books, and a flute.

I sat in my room, eating, drinking, reading, singing, playing, and sleeping. And no one bothered me. It was wonderful.

= = = = =

So here I was in this place of remarkable decadence, though a primitive sort I suppose. And all my time not taken up by anything else was taken up by remembrances.

The air was warm as summer, for summer it was, though long had Imladris smelled only of the crisp autumn, and outside the tall length of my open windows the leaves went fluttering by. At least the trees saw fit to renew every fallen leaf, so that we did not enter an eternal winter. As it was, the slower parts of the river were clogged with the daily mulch of fallen leaves.

I had grown used to it: living in the midst of fall no matter what the season.

I walked about my chambers naked, simply because I could. I lay between the sheets, half a bottle of wine still within reach. My current book was set aside, and I remembered.

Of all things, my recollection was taken up with a casual sort of misadventure so many centuries ago. Glorfindel, the horse, and myself.

Why I chose this of all my many memories to revisit, I did not know. At the time.

= = = = =

Unfortunately, before I could even plant within myself the seed of such nostalgias and lose myself to whatever brooding or fond recollections I had chosen to submerge in, there came the clop of hooves.

Since the very day that I had started counting days, I had trained myself to hear that sound, whether through sleep or the splash of running water or the playing of my flute, I was ever listening for the beat of hooves upon the Welcoming Stone of Imladris, that large slab of hardest granite that stood at the gate, that resounded even the smallest footstep through the echoing Valley.

And here it was. That long-awaited clip of a horse’s hoof.

Somehow, though, I knew it was not Glorfindel. And as I sat suddenly up, tilting my ears to the sound, I recognized the beat of two horses. Not one.

But no one came to the House anymore. Everyone knew of the slow wreckage of the place. Who could be here?

So it was I slipped from the bed. I did not deign to dress. I had not worn proper clothes in weeks. I merely wrapped up in one of my many night robes and left my room for the first time in days. The stone floors of Imladris were cool beneath my feet, and others joined me as I made my way to the forecourt. Elladan and Elrohir had stayed. Of course. (Some feared that they would stay for far longer.) Beside me walked Lindir. Ever loyal Lindir. There were others beside us, but not Elrond.

Elrond, our poor Lord, had closed himself up in the Hall of Fire and refused to come out. Or let anyone else in. Surely, then, his madness was greater than our own? I believed it was. So it was twelve of us who stepped out upon the cracked steps that led to the courtyard. The courtyard, no longer tended by anyone, overgrown with graying weeds. The fountain had stopped up and moss grew up its sides, green murkish water in its bowl. Vines grew betwixt the half-open iron gates of the place, and we dozen Elves stood in a barely supportable doorway, whose doors had fallen off and whose jamb had slanted to a noticeable angle over the years. To either side, what had been meeting halls and gaming rooms, were nothing but rubble. The peak of the library was no longer visibly distant over what roofs remained.

I could imagine the sight of us standing there, so the look of pure shook on the faces of our two visitors was not surprising. Neither, I suppose now that I think about it, were their identities.

Lord Celeborn -- much changed to my eyes -- and a single Galadrim, mounted upon fine dun colored steeds with nary a saddle nor bridle. Everyone looked to me. Even the twins, with their cool grey eyes. I couldn’t imagine why. I was hardly lord in place of Elrond’s absence. Why did the twins not greet their grandfather?

Well, I wasn’t about to voice such questions. So, clutching my sky-blue robe to my chest in a latent sense of modesty, my bare feet tread the cracked stone steps to welcome them. An Elf had followed me. I turned to see Lindir. Valiant Lindir. Of all of us, he was the only one who still retained any sense of duty. The rest of us kept to ourselves. In reality (and I think all of us knew this) Lindir needed to keep himself busy. Should he indulge in the gluttonous laze that we had, he would lose himself to a different sort of madness. So, Lindir it often was who kept the food coming, good healthful food like breads and meats (the twins occasionally went hunting), he kept hot water on for tea. Lindir was the one who kept the halls clean and our Lord fed and he was the one who knocked on my door when I hadn’t seen fit to emerge in a week. Lindir kept us together.

And he would be the one to take care of the visitors. Or at least their horses.

Celeborn and his sentry -- I recognized him as an Elf named Haldir -- dismounted. The horses, indeed, were content to follow Lindir to the still-standing stables. But I, I bowed to the Lord, though Celeborn reached out a hand to stop me, his left hand on my shoulder, his amber eyes dull and weary and worried. “Erestor. I am no longer Lord here or anywhere.”

I shook my head and smiled. I tried to put my finger on what it was that was so different about his appearance. “You will always be a Lord, Celeborn. It is something you cannot hide.” I did not say that I thought he would always be a prince as well, and a wise Elf. “But alas for all that, I welcome you to . . . what is left of Imladris.”

Celeborn and Haldir still stared in amazement. “The stories are true then,” Celeborn sighed. “I more than half expected them to be false. For such a place as the Last Homely House to fall to such ruin . . . I daren’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” I told him. “Come, I can take you to rooms that are still fit for the living. Close to the--”

Celeborn stopped me with a raised hand, breaking in, “I am here to see Elrond.”

I sighed. “I can take you to him, but I cannot guarantee that he will make you any response.”

“Let me to him, Erestor.”

“As you will.”

= = = = =

Haldir followed me, a silent shadow. I tried to recall what I knew of him. I did not think he was quiet by nature. But lately, my memory had been unclear on many things . . .

Behind him walked Celeborn, a dark twin on either side. Whispering.

Up the crooked, cracked stone steps and through the crooked door, down the hall with cracked, pealing walls. It was funny, I thought, to walk down this hall, so much changed. Some doors still stood, apparently unaffected, yet I knew that if opened, there would be no rooms beyond. Only ruins. As it was, not all the doors remained. And I could sense the two visitors behind me looking warily through splintered archways to the wreckage beyond. I could imagine them sending frightened looks along the spiderwebbing cracks of the wall up up up to the high ceiling that still arched overhead. “No one has been injured,” I reassured them. “There is always warning. This is the main hall. It will not fall yet.”

As we walked, the cracks decreased in number. The walls were straight and tall as ever, the stone and marble and oak of the floors solid and unmarred. “The Hall of Fire is the core. The closer you are to the Hall, the more intact the building. That will be the last part to fall.” I was sure of it. We all were, all of us who had dwelt here so long.

We passed through the intact dining chamber to the nearest set of doors to the Hall of Fire. “He’s in there,” I promised of the closed doors. “Barred or bolted or barricaded, I don’t know. We can’t get in. Stopped trying last year.”

“He hasn’t spoken?”

I shrugged at Haldir’s abrupt question. “Not to me.” I glanced at the twins. “Nor his sons. Maybe Lindir.” I shrugged again.

Celeborn had had enough. He stepped up and knocked on the door.

We waited.

I could hear the wind moving outside, and through the open windows of the dining chamber. I could hear the soft whickering of horses far away with Lindir in the stables. We were silent. Listening.

There was no sound from within the Hall.

Minutes later, as we strained to hear, praying for a response, Haldir bravely broke the moment. “You’re sure he’s in there?”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t.

Celeborn knocked again. “Elrond. It’s me.” Celeborn looked at the four of us. Haldir in his dusty uniform and the twins in their oldest, frayed hunting garb, and I in my night robe, still clutching the collar closed at my throat with one hand, securing the slippery satin belt with the other. Celeborn’s amber eyes shone with a fire they hadn’t before. “Is there a key to this door?”

I shook my head and Elladan answered. Or maybe Elrohir. It was getting harder and harder to tell them apart. “There are no locks in Imladris.” Well, it was mostly true.

Celeborn glanced back to see that, indeed, there was no keyhole. “I’d forgotten,” he muttered.

We stood there watching. It took me until that moment to realize why Celeborn looked so different to me. It was obvious. I should have noticed. Anyone would have. Everyone else probably had. I was growing too distant from my world. Like Thranduil, it was Celeborn’s raiment that was so changed. I nearly laughed at the sight. He was wearing the gray and black uniform of a Galadrim. A twin to Haldir’s.

He turned back to the door then. “Elrond, open the door.”

Again, we waited.

No response.

Celeborn sighed, looking to the floor. “Elrond, if you don’t open the door, I’m coming in anyway. I am prepared to break down the door, but I would prefer not to, so if you have barricaded it, please remove whatever is in my way.”

To my shock, I heard footsteps. Barely audible, but they were there. Then, the _SSSSSCCRRRRRAAAAAAAAPE_ of something large and heavy and wooden being slowly pushed or dragged across the wooden floor. Then silence.

I had tried similar tactics; we all had at first. But, Elrond and Celeborn did have a different relationship than the rest of us.  
 Celeborn said, “I don’t think I’ll be coming out for a while.” Then he looked at me. “Keep Haldir out of trouble.”

I nodded. He pushed open the door and passed into the long shuttered Hall of Fire. The door closed behind him and we heard the sound of the large object being pushed back into place.

Mentally, I shrugged my shoulders. Somewhere behind me, I heard Elladan and Elrohir settling themselves at the long head table. I turned to Haldir, ready to offer him food or a bath or a room, but my words stopped of their own accord. Haldir stood, staring at the closed door, as a puppy looks out from a cage, not knowing why it has been locked away. He was utterly lost.

So I said nothing.

Haldir obviously had no eye for aught but his Lord, who was now as far gone from him as a star is from the sun. For Haldir would never disobey his Lord. And though Celeborn had said nothing against Haldir following him, it was clear to us all that the two Lords were not to be disturbed.

In the end, I gently clapped a hand on Haldir’s shoulder, dust of the road rising up in a cloud even from that gentle gesture. I turned him away and walked him down the long lines of dining tables, past the twins and into the most intact part of the House.

I heard movement, voices, and the sounds of water. Curious, I led Haldir, and we followed the sounds.

Lindir had been fast.

He’d organized some others and they had opened up a room, airing the place out, fitting new sheets on the bed, laying out some loose clothes that might fit, but best of all, they had dragged in an old copper tub and were filling it with water heated in two pots over the fire they had lit.

Either we had been in the dining chamber longer than I had thought, or these were some very ambitious Elves.

I helped to fill the tub, mixing buckets of water straight from the river with that which had been heated until the water was wonderfully hot.

Food and wine had been brought and set inside, the windows still stood open to the summer air. Everything seemed to happen in summer, I thought.

Haldir, I noticed, seemed disinclined to speak with these Elves. I wondered if he was in a vague sort of shock. Much had changed in these last three years. Much had changed in these last few minutes.

But Celeborn had charged me with a task, and so I shooed the others out of the room, while thanking them profusely. They asked me to join them for a dinner together in the kitchen, which was something we did every few weeks or so, and I promised that I would try to come.

I turned to Haldir then, who stood motionless in the room, looking at the flaring fire in the grate. Then, only, did I speak to him. “Things have changed. You will come to accept it, as will we all. For now, do not pull too much into yourself. I advise you to join us for dinner.” I laughed suddenly. “I haven’t advised anyone of anything in a long time.”

He looked at me then. Finally.

“Do not shut out the world. Do not forget to bathe, to eat. Come now, remove these travel-weary garments and soak for a time in the hot water. You will feel better.”

He lowered his head, silver hair slowly nodding as sluggish and shaky fingers carefully pulled at the ties and buttons of his uniform. He spoke in a halting whisper. “Will you stay here? For a while? Please?” I’d heard Haldir speak on many occasions, my memory reminded me, digging up the shards of conversation. Never had he sounded anything like this. So tired and needful and frightened. “I don’t want to be alone,” he confessed.

“Of course I will stay,” I told him.

And I did.

= = = = =

Haldir and I arrived at the kitchen just in time for dinner. Lindir had been busy. There was plenty of food, and though Haldir said nothing to anyone, he did eat a decent meal, which I took as a good sign.

= = = = =

After that, I spent much of my time with Haldir. Why he chose me for a companion, I do not know, except that Celeborn had charged it so. But it was no hardship to stand beside him in the gardens, to walk the woodland paths, to break bread together.

We spoke, at first, of trifling things. About everyday matters. But I could see that Haldir sought a confessor.

“Is it true,” he asked me not long after his arrival, “that Lord Elrond has not left the Hall of Fire?”

We were strolling along a walkway. It had once had a roof and there would have been a wall behind us, but all that was gone. We walked the graying ruins and I stopped at a white stone bench, cracked but stable. I sat and gestured that he should do likewise. I sighed. “We say that he has not left the Hall. But it is not true. He wishes it to be so, so that is the truth that we maintain. But I have seen him walking the place at night. The lonely corridors, the waning gardens, the drooping forest. He wanders only when Arien has laid her head to rest beyond the western hills. Out of respect for this, we twelve -- and now you -- stay in our rooms at night. Mostly. Sometimes, I too, walk about at night when sleep is not forthcoming. Some of the times, I have seen him, but I forget it. He is as a ghost, to himself and to me. I let him be because he wishes it, and that is the way that things are now.” I watched Haldir. He looked out to the crisping brownish forest and I could see his thoughts carried deep. I told him, “I think that Celeborn must now join him in these evening jaunts.”

“What do you suppose they do now together?” His cat-purr voice was low and worried.

I, too, looked to the wood. “Who can say what ancient Lords do when the time comes to mourn their lives and to bid their only home farewell forever? I dare not venture to guess. Though I suppose that, like the rest of us, they have found their own ways to cope. Honestly, I think Celeborn is simply the only one brave enough to intrude. Elrond’s tendency for melancholia in desperate times is legendary, and I believe Celeborn has joined him simply so that he will not be alone. When Celeborn is satisfied that Elrond won’t do anything *too* foolish, I have no doubt he will return to us, and tell us that Elrond will come out ‘in his own good time.’ Yes, now that I choose to ponder it, I believe that is what shall happen.” I regarded him again, a handsome face lost to lonely self-doubt. “You will see your Lord again, of course. Until then, be not unhappy in my company, and in the company of the others here. Ask Lindir to play for you; it would cheer his heart. Spar with the twins; it would do them well to keep busy, to distract them from the temporary loss of their own father. Or keep to your room and your own indulgences, like I do. Though I would ask that we continue our walks. They have wakened me from my self-consuming habits and reminded me of some things that I have forgotten.”

I ceased then. I considered it a good speech, but finished.

Haldir, however, thought otherwise. He asked me in what had become that soft rumble of a voice, “What have you forgotten?”

I graced him with the truth. “I have forgotten the way the wind sings when it plays with the trees. I have forgotten the colors of my home. I have forgotten the joys to be found with a like companion. I have forgotten the satisfaction of stretching my muscles over the great length of the House, or what remains of it. I have forgotten many things. But I am reminded of them now.” I sighed and turned to Haldir and took his hand in my own. “I do not think any of this will be quite the same in the place that we are going. And I do not want to forget it.”

= = = = =

One day, as the two of us sat side-by-side on the cracked steps at the forecourt, alone in the desolation of what had so recently been something of a metropolis, he spoke to me of deeper things. “There were about eighty of us left. When we knew we would have to leave. It was terrifying, in its way. I lay on my mat in the city talan I had shared with my brothers. The sound was as terrible as any other living thing, worse even.” I did not know of what he was speaking at first, but did not push him. We had plenty of time to remember what had gone before us. Realizing, perhaps, that he was being unclear, he looked up to meet my eyes, something he rarely did anymore. “I speak of the fall of the first Mallorn. What unseen hands could weaken so magnificent a being? And the cry it made as it fell . . . the screech of the wood, the crashing of the limbs, and the overwhelming sorrow of so ancient a thing . . . It was horrible.” He swiped irritably at the tears on his cheeks and looked away again. “I flew from my bedside, following the sound. I could see the destruction before I arrived. Broken-angled branches hung like the ruins of a battle in the Wood and I followed where they pointed. I tread a path I’d only followed once before, a long long time before. It was the path that led to my Lady’s mirror. You know of the Mirror? I came upon that hallowed place, silent as a grave it was, to find the basin split in two, crushed under the weight of the felled tree.” Haldir could not stop the tears that came again. “There stood my Lord. Silently weeping at the sight. We left that day.”

The others, he later told me, had moved on, staying on the borders of Imladris for but a night. Celeborn, however, had said that there was business yet here for him. Haldir, as was apparent, had stayed. Though he had not even told his Lord why. But I fancied I could guess.

= = = = =

Days later, sitting on those same steps, I would address the matter.

“May I ask, what of your brothers?”

“They followed our Lady over sea last year.”

“But not you,” I felt the need to point out. “You follow your Lord instead, why is that?”

Haldir was taken off guard at my direct questioning. “Someone had to,” he thought. “I could not leave him on these shores alone.”

“But he is not with you now. It is he who has left you alone.”

“I noticed,” Haldir growled, but any anger he felt was not directed at me.

“You might have guessed it would happen,” I suggested. “Why do you wait for him?”

“I . . . I do not wait for him. I merely serve him.”

“Though he no longer claims title as Lord? I am sure he has released you from your services. I am sure he told you to go on your way. I think he knew what awaited him here.”

Haldir was losing control of his emotions. He trembled, he twisted his hands together in his lap. He rocked forward and back in a subtle motion. He spat out the word, “Yes!”

“And still you are near him. I think I know why.”

Haldir glared at me. It was good to see something there in hazel eyes that was not sorrow or indifference. “I bet you do. But I have no need of your advice, Counselor.” He made the title an insult.

“I beg to differ,” I argued in an agreeable manner. And I would say the words aloud, though he could not. “Your devotion goes beyond that of customary allegiance. You follow him for one reason alone. You love him.”

He ceased his restless behaviors. He stared at the dead fountain. This time, his word was a whisper. “Yes.”

“So you continue a hopeless way of life. Why?”

He turned to me, eyes wide and clear, confusion and anger gone. “Wouldn’t you?”

I honestly did not understand.

“If your love was suffering, would you not strive to alleviate it? If your love was lonely, would you not be a companion? If your love needed protection, would you not give it without any thought to yourself? If your love was saying goodbye to everything he had ever known, would you not stand beside him?”

Then I understood. Far too well and too suddenly. I jumped to my feet and stepped out upon the broken stones of the forecourt. “I didn’t,” I whispered to myself, wondering something that I should have wondered at long before. “ _I_ didn’t.”

Haldir was confused. He did not understand. “Of what do you speak?”

Suddenly, I needed to know. I turned to Haldir. Desperate I was. “How do you know what it is to love?”

Now, the infuriating Galadrim smiled at me. This was the Haldir I remembered. “Haven’t you ever loved, Erestor?”

I shook my head slowly, thinking. “Love? I think I know love. I love my family, I love my Lord, I love my friends. And sex I have experienced. Love and passion I have known, but always one without the other. That experience of being in love. I have not ever felt it, but maybe I have; I don’t know how to define it.”

“Define it?” Haldir was amused.

I said again, I begged, “How do you know what it is to love?”

Haldir took pity on me. And this was his slow, thoughtful answer. “If you know what it is to crave, to yearn, to crumble, to bleed, to live but feel dead, to die but still breathe, to cry unceasingly, to smile till it hurts, to feel your insides rot, to dream remorselessly, to pray when you have no religion, to damn the gods when you do, to stretch for something you know you can’t reach, to breathe when you don’t want to, to break when you least expect it, to build up useless defenses, to lie when it hurts, to hurt others to heal yourself, to laugh as a last resort, to trust when you know you shouldn’t, to lie awake in the night, to sleep through what matters, to push away the pain you feel anyway, to crawl, to keen, to weep, to invent, to bluff, to try to forget, to cherish moments that don’t matter to anyone else, to be ill for no reason, to be happy for less, to be fierce when you’re sad, to be gentle when you’re hopeless, to turn away over and over again, to fly when you least expect it, to cry when you can’t avoid it, to be always learning and always fearing, to leap when no one’s looking, to hide when they are, to mourn alone, to pretend, to agonize, to daydream, to shudder, to recoil, to damn and to curse, to strive, to long for heaven when you’re living a hell, to scream so that no one will hear, to plead with empty words, to hate yourself, to sacrifice yourself, to show the pain to no one, to thirst when you don’t know what for, to hunger when you’re already full, to be always climbing uphill, to wish for something you don’t think you’ll ever have even if you know what it is.

“If you know what it is to do this, then you know what it is to love.”

= = = = =

‘If your love was saying goodbye to everything he had ever known, would you not stand beside him?’

I hadn’t. I had let Glorfindel go off on his own into the wilderness, seeking in an uncertain state of mind only-the-Valar-know-what.

At that point, the sort of love I bore him was irrelevant. I had let him go. Without a thought. With barely a word.

“I am a fool,” I said to no one in particular.

I was surprised, therefore, when someone answered. Haldir stood behind me. “Fools who know they are foolish are wise. So are madmen who know their own madness.”

I said nothing, waiting. I’d never made the connection quite that way before.

He supplied, “In which case, you are a wise madman, and I but a mad fool.”

“How do you figure?” I asked as he sat beside me at the head table in the dining chamber. We were alone.

He did not answer my question, instead asking, “Who do you long for? For whom do you question your own heart?”

“Do you know Glorfindel?”

He laughed. I did too. Everyone knew Glorfindel.

“I had wondered what happened to him,” Haldir told me. “Ever were the two of you seen together. I feared to ask why I did not find him here with you.”

“He left.”

Haldir looked expectantly at me.

“To say goodbye to this Middle Earth in his own way.”

“And you let him go?” Haldir asked, confused.

I nodded. “It never occurred to me that I might go with him, to protect him and to--” I suddenly broke off. I would not say ‘love.’

“Love him,” Haldir said anyway. “For you do, do you not?”

“Oh,” I sighed sadly. “I don’t know.”

“Erestor!” Elrond suddenly shouted from behind the Fire Hall doors. “Don’t lie!”

Haldir and I stared disbelieving at the double door to the Hall. Motionless and dusty. No one might have guessed some living thing hid behind them. “I have not heard his voice in years,” I quietly observed.

“Well,” Haldir offered a cheerless smile, “It seems he has not forgotten you.”

I suddenly grabbed Haldir’s arm and pulled him from the room. He allowed my strange behavior. Everyone had been acting odd these last few years; it was excused. We ran together out of the dining chamber and down the Main Hall and through the crooked doorway and down the cracked steps to the broken stones of the forecourt. “Haldir,” I said gravely, holding his shoulders and looking up at him, for his name fit him well. He was tall indeed. “Haldir,” I repeated, “I know that Elrond did not forget us. And you, you MUST know that Celeborn has not forgotten you!?”   
“Yes,” he sighed. “I suppose I do know that. But it is easy to forget.”

= = = = =

That night, I slept uneasily. That night, I dreamed. I was in the wood, a lush and green and lively place, though it was the dead of night. Though the stars hung pinned in their places on the net of the sky, and the moon hung pregnant amongst them, it was vastly dark, as though a shadow ate its way up from the ground to blind me. I ran. I ran, terrified, even though all else was calm, if unpleasantly dark around me. I felt an undeniable compulsion to run, and so I did, not knowing if it was in an effort toward or away from something. I stopped myself and panted for breath. I listened to the night and, at first, heard little. There were normal, everyday sorts of night noises: the chirp of many busy insects and the calls of nocturnal birds. Then, in the distance, I heard a shout. It was my name. Someone was calling for me. I ran. I ran, remembering why I ran. I’d never been so swift, my feet barely met the ground, the branches lifted out of my way and I felt as though I might fly. I was speeding toward the screams, which I now knew were cries for help. I recognized Glorfindel’s voice. I pelted through the unnaturally black forest, but as fast I was, he only seemed to grow more distant until I could not hear him at all.

Then, I woke.

I threw off the covers tangled about my legs and swung my feet to the floor, breathing hard, as though I had truly been running for my life. I was drenched in sweat and the sheets were too. I stood and pulled them from the bed.

I poured myself a glass of water from the pitcher at my small basin.

Still, I felt hot. Heated. Too warm. I was not accustomed to feeling overheated. I stamped to the window to throw open the shutters.

The night air, though it was summer, was at last a cooling balm to my heated brow.

There was no glass in the windows, and I hung my head through, begging a sudden wind to cool me even more.

Then I remembered my balcony. I carried my tumbler of water to slide open the door and I stepped out into the night. I was naked, but that did not concern me. I needed something to cool me!

I leant over the old wood railing, hearing it creak. “Just a little longer,” I whispered to the wood and stone of my home. My forearms rested against the cool wood, the glass clutched in one careless hand.

It was some sudden, noiseless sound that alerted me. I looked up.

My room, and therefore my balcony, overlooked the eastern side of the Valley, where the gardens grew out of control and the orchards hung heavy with unpicked fruit. Beyond was the autumn wood.

And I saw, as though in the reading of a novel, an inevitable moment.

Haldir was walking the line of the orchard, heading slowly in my direction. He was far from me, but I could still see that his head was bowed and his feet were slow.

Also choosing to walk the place at night, I could see Elrond and Celeborn, side by side. They were to my left, walking just before the orchard.

The meeting would be inevitable. Their distance and paces were such that they could not help coming suddenly upon the other, especially if their thoughts were in the past and not on the noises of the night. As it was, their footsteps were quiet. I could not hear them from the balcony, and the Lords were not speaking.

As the moment of inevitability grew closer, I held my own breath. Forgotten was my dream, and the heat of my sleep had been replaced by the cold of fear. For surely, though this was not, in itself, a bad thing, surely it was not good either. Elrond wished to be alone. And who knew what Celeborn’s intentions were? But it had been so long, so long since Haldir had last seen his Lord. A year, I suddenly remembered. A year. And, since the breaking of the Ring, the years had grown very long for us. What would they do? Were they each strong enough to go their own ways this night, to turn away from one another and forget?

I did not think so.

And I had _told_ Haldir, leave the night to the Lords of the place! But I could not blame him. It was all too easy, I knew, to leave a sleepless bed in favor of some outdoors air and feel the earth beneath your feet. As Haldir drew nearer to me, I could see he wore no shoes either. Only the remnants of his uniform: leggings and a sleeveless tunic. The night was not cold. And I could imagine: abandoning the frustration of a sleepless night, throwing on your clothes, and slipping from the House for a midnight meander, to ponder the woes of love. And what would he do when suddenly faced with his Lord? What would he do?

If I chose to stay, I would find out.

For fear of dropping it, I carefully hunkered down and set my glass on the floor. I knelt on my knees, my hands gripping the bars of the balcony railing, my face pressed between their cool, wooden softness. I watched. Closer to one another they drew, as though fated.

Quiet steps and distant minds would lead them to the very brink. I stilled my breath, almost hearing their distant steps, my eyes intent. ‘Listen!’ I thought. ‘Just listen!’ But they did not.

Then, suddenly it happened. They were there, at the corner of a line of the orchard. All three stopped of a sudden and looked up.

For a moment, they stood as though turned to stone. I could well believe it. What a shock. I had heard the quiet gasps of simple surprise, and I could see the astonishment on their faces.

Celeborn recovered first. But he said nothing, looking between his sentry and his son-in-law.

Then Haldir, oh brave and selfless Haldir! did a thing I could not have. He was stronger than I, I thought. For he put one foot back and performed a graceful bow to the Lords, slow and deep. He, wisely and foolishly, said nothing, but only turned and with the same measured walk, returned the very way he had come.

I found myself to be disappointed.

‘That’s it?’ I felt compelled to ask. ‘But you love him!’ Why was I cheering Haldir on? Had it not been my own self to counsel him to avoid them both?

But wait, the Lords were whispering. Quickly, though not fiercely, I saw them bow their mouths to one another’s ears, until it came to an end. Elrond put his left hand on Celeborn’s right shoulder and walked away, continuing at a hardy pace down the edge of the orchard, leaving Celeborn alone. I could see the hesitance in the Lord’s very posture as he stood there, watching Elrond march away, turning to watch Haldir’s slow and lonely gait.

‘Go to him!’ I nearly shouted it.

And then he did.

Celeborn suddenly threw off the cape he had worn against some imaginary chill and he streamed down the line of fruit trees.

I bit my lip with anticipation, watching Haldir slow and turn. He must have heard the breakneck approach and pivoted to see his pursuer. Celeborn came to an abrupt halt before him. They spoke, they must have! But I was too distant to hear their words. And Celeborn’s wide back was to me. ‘Turn aside!’ I begged silently. ‘I can’t see!’

Then, Celeborn suddenly stepped backward and -- unwittingly -- a bit to the side.

I could see!

Haldir had fallen to his knees. And I could hear, carried to me on the lazy wind, a keening sort of cry as he swayed side to side, grasping his stomach as though injured. But the cry, that screaming cry he uttered, there was love in it, and relief, and joy.

Celeborn was quick to kneel beside the Elf, folding his great arms about Haldir’s weeping form in a gesture of such tenderness that my heart sang at the sight.

Then, Celeborn tipped up Haldir’s chin to meet his eyes and speak. Haldir offered a shaky nod. And then they kissed!

“Yeeeesss,” I whispered to myself, as though I had orchestrated the entire thing. “Yes!”

I watched then, unable to tear my eyes from the spectacle, for they did not stop at kissing. Tunics were pushed from wide shoulders by shaky, loving hands. Mouths sought the skin that was revealed. Hands stroked at golden skin, and silver hair flung round about, falling like threads of rain. A little fumbling bared their bodies to the night until they wound together. I could hear their voices on the air, wordless and full of passion.

“Erestor!” I jumped in surprise and peered downward. Elrond stood nearly beneath my balcony and was looking up at me. I waved. His laughter drifted slowly up through the thin air of the night. “Go to bed!” he hissed. “Voyeur! Show some respect!”

I gestured in a silencing motion, as though he should keep down his voice, though I doubted any low voices or even shouts might stir the world of the enviable lovers entwined in their bed of green grass.

I did not feel guilty for watching them, but perhaps Elrond was right. I stood with my glass of water, and peered one last time down the line of trees. So similar were they that I could not tell one from the other at this distance, as they made love in the orchard.

I returned to my room and made the bed with fresh linens. My thoughts were elsewhere. My thoughts were with the lovers, finally united on Imladrian grounds. I wished to know what few words had passed between them, whether confessions of love were awkward and artless and simple, or whether poetry was natural to the tongue in times of passion.

And when I lay myself down again upon the bed, between the clean and cool sheets, the sounds of passionate release flew through the air and the open door of my balcony to ring in my ears and sing me to a much more pleasing sleep.

= = = = =

No one saw Haldir for three days.

I assured them they had nothing to worry about and, no, they shouldn’t bother knocking at his door.

Then, there was much rejoicing when Celeborn and Haldir were seen at table together. I did not think it was readily apparent what had happened between them. But I saw it with the eyes of one who was looking for love, and knew what he was looking at.

Celeborn said very little about Elrond, even to the twins, as far as I know. But he did say, “Do not worry. Your Lord will emerge in his own good time.”

I grinned to hear it.

= = = = =

The tremors had continued, of course, eating away at bits of the House over the last year. And it was not long before I stood again in the gardens, watching portions of the House fold in on itself.

Including my room.

By that point, I could see the humor in it. My most mournful sound was a heartfelt sigh as I watched that wing of the House collapse, burying with it any trinkets and clothing I still valued.

Then I walked with the others as we made our usual rounds, surveying what had survived this latest disintegration and what had not.

Again, there was no sign of Elrond, but Celeborn did not seem worried. I wondered if our Lord hibernated in the Hall almost as a way of persuading it to remain standing, if any strength he still had left was dedicated to supporting the last of a decomposing home.

And finally, I allowed myself to wonder why he still stayed. What was yet here for him that he did not, finally, sail?

But that was not a question that I would get an answer to, not yet. So, we still scoured the land, twelve of us and two Elves of Lorien. They gasped when they realized that my room no longer stood. All of them had situated themselves closer to the Hall, but my rooms had always been rather far away from much of anything and I had liked it that way.

I brushed their worry and sympathy aside; there was no need for it. I missed my room the same way you miss a lost piece of jewelry. It had value, and you were accustomed to it, and it was odd to no longer feel the weight of it on your person, but you would recover.

Finally, all the others had returned to the House, but for me and someone at my side. I turned to look at Lindir. He was really very pretty, and I wondered if he resented the fact or used it to his advantage. I’d never really considered it before. For over four thousand years, Lindir and I shared the relationship of two people with more in common than most, but not enough to be friends. I had always respected his position in Imladris, and he, mine. We had both comforted Elrond through his losses, and mourned and celebrated together over the Ages. But I was too consumed with my work, and he was too thrilled at the overall idea of life.

Now, we stood in the gardens as the dust of mortar and rock hung thick in the air and he said, sadly and slow, “Where will you sleep?”

I looked at him, at wide sea-glass eyes in a pale but rosy-cheeked face framed by hair the color of an old woman’s. “Is Glorfindel’s room still standing?”

= = = = =

Never having the opportunity in the past to learn the art of lock picking, I settled myself on the floor with two twisted bits of metal and the twins’ words repeating in my head. It took longer than I should have liked, but not as long as it could have until I heard the satisfying ‘click’ I’d been waiting for.

I jumped up and grabbed the handle, fondly thinking upon Glorfindel’s professional paranoia. No one had locks on their doors in Imladris. Except Glorfindel and myself.

I opened the door as though expecting a booby trap on the other side. The door creaked, groaning at its sudden use after years of neglect. I wondered if my eyes fooled me, for when I peered in through the crack of the open door, I could see nothing but blackness.

Letting the door creak open all the way, I stepped inside. As usual, I was only wearing my robe, the thin thing I’d wrapped myself in at the sound of the tremors and fled the House in hours before, and I could feel the thin layer of dust under my bare feet as I tread upon the pale wooden planks of his floor.

The light from the corridor illuminated my way to the windows, where I threw aside the heavy drapes, choking on the dust they sent at me, and flung open the shutters.

= = = = =

I spent days in Glorfindel’s room, shooing the dust out the windows, changing the outer quilt on the bed, polishing and cleaning and straightening until it looked livable, unlike the shell I had encountered upon my illicit arrival.

And still, it was a way of torture.

The room had been shut up for so long, but Glorfindel’s scent was undeniable. It hung in the curtains and in the old air of the room that still lingered. It loitered in the thick and heavy carpets and in the clothes that hung upon the chair-backs and in the closet, as though his scent had fully permeated his lair.

And at night, I slipped into the unchanged sheets, where I could so easily imagine Glorfindel laying beside me, for I could have sworn, as I buried my nose in the pillows, that I could smell him, real and alive and close.

The first night I did so was the first time in a very long time that I sought my own pleasure. I called out his name, and I could no longer deny my love for him. Because my body knew what I had been thinking too hard about.

And that was all right.

= = = = =

I set up another line of wine bottles. All around the room in a pattern of green, brown, and black glass. Every few days, I snuck out into the orchards to pile the fruits in the folds of my robe. Though it wasn’t really MY robe; I’d taken to wearing what I’d found in Glorfindel’s closet, though I knew the shirts and robes hung near comically off my smaller form.

Worst of all, I found Glorfindel’s stash of soap. I never did figure out precisely what kind it was, or where on this poor Middle Earth it was manufactured, so all I knew was that it smelled like Glorfindel, and I had found his stash. Then, I used it.

I smelled like Glorfindel all the time.

I thought about Glorfindel all the time.

I had broken into his room and was sleeping in his bed. It was divinely sinful.

I loved it.

I loved him.

= = = = =

So this was the place that I had come to.

I had ensconced myself in a room that was not my own, cut myself off from the rest of the diminishing House, and did very little but lounge about, indulging in memories and questioning why I did so.

I lay in bed, thinking. Remembering.

Glorfindel and I had a relationship that fluctuated through the years. There were times when we were close friends, times when we rarely saw one another, and there were times when our companionship was of a harder kind, when we took delight in teasing one another and in getting the best of the other with our insults.

It was this last frame of association we had been stuck in for some time when we were to make a diplomatic journey to Lorien, I remembered. We could not have cared less for the party we traveled with: soldiers and diplomats, like he and I. I suppose, technically, the former were the escort for the latter. But we hardly needed it.

Glorfindel and I rode side by side, conversing. I don’t actually remember those conversations. It was more of the same, I’m inferior because I’ve based my life upon books, he’s inferior because he’s given his life to the sword. Hits achieved, points taken. We laughed.

Entering Lorien was always the same, but I remember this journey in particular. We had taken the long way round, that our horses might rest safely in the fields just without the city.

I remember their songs as different from those sung in the Hall of Fire. Not better nor worse, only different. Longer, more solemn sometimes. In this case, welcoming and joyous and ringing loud, voices drifting down through the lantern-laden trees. It was near dusk and the Wood evinced an unearthly lavender glow. The sky having darkened to just such a hue, the yellow spits of light from the lanterns reflected forever amid the silver and gold of the ethereal Wood.

It was still a novel experience for me: living in the trees. Castles and caves and mansions and houses I had known. But those Lorien telain were like houses in the trees. It was a marvel to me and I always found it rather quaint and charming, words I never would have used in the presence of the Galadrim. Their pride ran nearly as deep as my own, and -- especially as a diplomat -- I was loath to arouse any wrath on their part.

That was one part of my job that had always grated on me. I found it thrilling to be such an important aspect of my Lord’s household, and to be constantly in touch with the rest of the world, but to be always, absolutely _always_ , so highly aware of myself and how I looked and what I said was positively draining. Every phrase that went through my head had to be filtered before I said it. I had to wear those ridiculous ceremonial robes, as a way of respect, I suppose, though I curse the one who came up with the fashion. As Elrond’s second, which is really what I was all those years, I felt this intense, compelling need to be perfect in every way that I could possibly be. Any thing out of place or incorrect was not only a reflection of myself, but a reflection of my Lord, and of Imladris.

Laying in bed, looking back on all of this, I wonder that I managed it as long as I had. I did not think it was in my nature. As a child, I had been rowdy and my nurse had been on my tail every hour to keep my bed and play room clean.

And now I lounged about Glorfindel’s room like I owned the place, with his things thrown about every which way and using his soap when I went for a romp in the river.

But in the memory swirling about my head, I recalled that first night, dropping into bed after a dip in the public bathing house to sleep the night away.

Then, for two weeks, I attended meetings. Three per day, on average. Who knows what Glorfindel was up to at the time? Sometimes he skipped the councils he was supposed to sit in on, and -- for someone of such renown -- he rarely showed concern for the sorts of things I did. He could wander in five minutes late with half his hair undone and not give two whits about it.

To my rather envious shock, I rarely heard anything bad about Glorfindel from anyone else. They did not care that he was discourteous, disheveled, and disrespectful. He could get away with it.

 _He_ was _charming_.

I shuddered to think what would be said if _I_ arrived with mussed clothes, unbraided hair, and gnawing a turkey leg after the beginning of a conference. I’d be laughed out of the Council Chamber! Not Glorfindel.

I resented him for it, I did. But not nearly as much as I was amused by it, which was a fortuitous thing, for we were long determined to work well together, no matter how many disputes should arise between us.

As it was, I allowed myself to get frustrated, which always ended badly. Glorfindel was smiling that infuriating grin of his at dinners. I swear he had developed a smile just for me, the smile that said, ‘Yeah, I know I get away with all kinds of shit; innit great?’

By the time we left, we were practically at one another’s throats.

Because on top of everything else, he’d been messing around with one of the sentries. And I knew that because, of course, Glorfindel and I had shared a talan with what had to be the thinnest wall in all of Arda separating our rooms.

At the time, I truly did not understand why it upset me so much.

Silly me.

= = = = =

As we took the long, slow road down around the Gap of Rohan, Glorfindel and I allowed ourselves to fall behind the rest of the group, our horses whickering softly as we argued bitterly.

As I failed to instill any sense of community pride in him, he failed to inspire any love of adventure in me. It went on like that for days until, one evening as we made camp, Glorfindel was taken aside by two of his scouts, who had been riding ahead of us.

And, as would any self-respecting Elf, I spied on their conversation. ‘An encampment?’ I overheard Glorfindel say. ‘How many?’

‘We estimate just over twenty men, all ages.’

‘Do they look like trouble?’

‘Rough sorts maybe. They could be trouble if you let ‘em.’

‘Well,’ Glorfindel seemed to think it over. ‘I’ll just have to go see for myself.’

At which I popped up from my hiding place. ‘No, Glorfindel, I forbid it; we’ll just go round them.’

‘But--’

‘I will not hear of it; I will not have you forgetting that we are to maintain a schedule. Mayhap you have duties that can keep. I do not.’

‘But--’

‘ _Schedule_ , Glorfindel, do you remember that word? The one Elrond drilled into us? The one that Elrond wrote out on the slate, convinced that we would be late and that if we were he would be blaming both of us and that we would still be expected to finish all our duties, even if we aren’t there?’

‘Erestor, that is ridiculous. First of all, Elrond is paranoid because we’re constantly ripping at each other. Second of all, _you_ are paranoid. Third of all, I am not yet so remiss in my duties as to let a band of wandering men wander this close to Imladris without knowing their intentions. Besides, a few days here or there . . .’

I couldn’t help but think to myself, damn! That is a well-argued argument.

‘Fine! But I am coming with you.’

Hey. I was curious.

= = = = =

At which point my musings were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Haldir! Of course!”

I didn’t mind the interruption, really. Lindir hadn’t bothered me in months about coming to the House dinners, and I hadn’t actually talked to anyone in days, hadn’t had a real conversation in weeks. Haldir was generally locked away with Celeborn, and I had to admit I had missed his company.

He laughed as he came in, hazel eyes darting about the rather disordered room, twinkling at the sight of me.

I sat up to welcome him, the sheets pooling about my waist. “Welcome to . . . Glorfindel’s room.”

Haldir laughed and swaggered about the place, taking everything in, poking about the corners and peering through the curtains. I shook my head at the sight. So different from the phantom that had silently floated after his Lord when they arrived over a year before. This was the Haldir I remembered from Lorien visits, the one who was confident in his place in the world and was nearly always ready with a sharp and witty word. I was just waiting. He finally stopped at the foot of the bed, eyeing me in a way that would have worried me if I had not known he was completely devoted to his Lord. Since he just stood there, staring, I piped up with, “What?”

“You,” he said. “Are you still in denial?”

“No. No, I’m not. Why are you here?”

Haldir shook his head and looked about. “No reason.”

“You just wanted to see me in my unnatural environment.”

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” he wanted to know, making himself comfortable beside me on the other half of the bed.

“In a guilt-ridden, paranoid fashion,” I admitted. “I shudder to think what will happen if he catches me.”

“If?” Haldir asked, stretching out and crossing his arms behind his head. “Erestor, you mean ‘when.’ And you are just waiting for the moment when he bursts in that door, turns you over on this bed, and fucks you.”

“Haldir!” I slapped him with a pillow, right in his smug face.

“Ow!”

“That was uncalled for!” I shouted.

“I don’t believe it was,” he argued, sitting up. “It’s going to happen. Or something nearly like it. At least, it will if you let it, if you encourage it.”

“What are you telling me?” I wanted to know. It bothered me that he was more than hinting at something and I was too fearful to figure what it was.

Haldir probably picked up on that, for his smile faded just a bit. “Erestor, you’re closed up.”

“Closed up?”

“Like a badger in its lair. I’ve never seen you come out until now.”

“Out?”

“Stop repeating me. Yes, you’ve always worn this mantle of professionalism. Always. I’ve never seen you betray that devotion to your home by being merely yourself, instead of yourself-muted-by-diplomatic-duty.”

“Ah.” I knew what he was talking about, and I confessed, “I think that particular part of me is gone, lost to the madness of one who has seen his home literally fall to pieces in the past . . . however many years. Well. You’re afraid that Glorfindel and I have come to the end of our road, and that I’ll turn around and go back into my lair when the time comes?”

“Something like that.”

“You called me a badger.”

“Well, I’ve seen you in Council; you can be a vicious little thing, Erestor. Very . . . territorial.” There was something low and primeval in his tone.

“Why,” my voice jumped a register as Haldir leaned in toward me. “Why are you . . . what are you doing?”

“I’m going to kiss you,” he confided.

I have to admit I made a noise rather resembling a screech and jumped backwards, clutching the sheets to my chest, screaming something to the effect of, “HALDIR NO WHAT ABOUT CELEBORN WHAT ARE YOU DOING TAKE YOUR HAND OFF MY THIGH!!!”

Haldir laughed. Really a very attractive sort of sound. “Erestor. You don’t have to be afraid of me. Or Celeborn. He knows I’m here and he knows what I’m doing.”

“What ARE you doing; are you insane?”

“I don’t think so. I’m saner than you are, anyway. Erestor, when was the last time you wore real clothes or interacted with people on a regular basis?”

I thought for a moment. “What do you consider . . . ‘regular’?”

“My point proved. And I am here to make sure you aren’t getting cobwebs up here.” He tapped the side of my head. Hard.

“Hey,” I pulled back more and clutched the sheets tighter.

“I’m worried about you. I want you to be ready when Glorfindel returns.”

“I’ll never be ready.”

“No?”

“No. I love him, but . . .”

“That first confession is always difficult,” Haldir agreed, his voice soft and his eyes looking elsewhere.

I smiled. “Honestly. I’ll manage.”

“Have no fear,” Haldir told me. “That’s not really possible, I know,” he laughed with understanding. “But you’ve been so closed in for such a long time. Can you really welcome him with open arms when he returns?”

“That is my intent.” I looked about the room. “I don’t have much of a choice, after all. Not now, that I’ve done this.” Haldir was edging closer again. I scooted toward the very precipice of the mattress. “And just why were you going to _kiss_ me, Haldir?”

“Why, because you need the practice, of course.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

And before I knew it, he had me pinned to the bed.

I wasn’t frightened. I was curious. “You seem very intent on this, Marchwarden.”

He sighed, folded his arms across my breast, rested his chin on his arms, and frowned at me. “You’re completely uninterested.”

“Well. Not completely,” I declared. “It’s just all . . . so sudden.” We both cracked up, chortling with bird-like titters. “Really, Haldir; this is absurd.”

“Ah, I suppose.”

“Do you want to kiss me?” Damn curiosity. You’d think I’d have trained myself to shut up after all these years.

“Want? Sure. Kissing is nice. You’re nice.”

“Nice? I’m not nice.”

“You _are_ nice,” he defended. “And nice-looking,” he said thoughtfully.

“Nice-looking,” I repeated, unimpressed. “That, sadly, is the first compliment I have received in a long time.”

“What? Don’t people tell you you’re beautiful?” He was trying not to smile.

“I’m _not_ beautiful,” I pointed out, “therefore people have not made a habit of saying such. Get out of my room, Haldir! You’ve interrupted my musings!”

“I think you mean ‘brooding.’ And it’s a good thing I’ve interrupted. It’s true, perhaps: I can’t truly call you beautiful, but you are . . .”

“Yes?” I prompted, as he struggled not to insult me.

“Different. Exotic.”

“Exotic?” I parroted. “Oh, now you’re reaching. I’m no more exotic than a toadstool. Different, I grant you.”

“Well, I can see the appeal,” he said, shifting to run a finger down the bridge of my perfectly straight and boring nose. “Besides, love sees with different eyes than the ones in our head. I’m sure that Glorfindel is completely taken with you, and when he turns up and finds you here--”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Haldir. Now, please, get off me.”

He sighed and sat up. He frowned down at me. “Have you been sexually active?”

“You mean with other people?”

Haldir couldn’t help it; he broke up into laughter again, shoulders shaking. “Yes!” he finally managed between rumbling chuckles. “With other people.”

“No. Why?”

He shrugged. He was pointedly not looking at me. “It can come as quite a shock to the body, after . . . however many years of . . . stasis.”

“And you know this from personal experience?”

He nodded.

“Ah. Well. You were right to suspect.” I sat up, weary for the first time in days, wondering why Haldir came to me now with such thoughts and questions and temptations. I sighed and gestured to myself. “This Elven body, wearied and weighted by so many other matters, was more than content to succumb to sexual suspension after realizing it would not be enjoying the company of a mate. That was many years ago.”

“Years?”

“Decades.”

“Oh?” Haldir was still skeptical.

“Centuries, all right? Now. I think my last true kiss was many years ago at a New Year’s celebration. I was rather tipsy. That is, if you don’t count Thranduil’s . . . well nevermind. Anyway. Care to give me some practice?” Had those words actually come out of my mouth?

Haldir’s grin was ruthlessly hungry and eager. “Care to? What a treasure.”

Then, he set his lips to mine.  
 It wasn’t quite a kiss.

I realized he was going to make me do the work.

It was true; kissing had no more been a hobby of mine than dancing or fighting: I did what was required of me. To think of kissing in those terms made me laugh. So, I let my lips explore Haldir’s, marveling at the depth of sensation there. I hadn’t thought upon how sensual a mouth could be in a very long time, except perhaps in my more recent and admittedly vague fantasies about what it would be like to be with Glorfindel.

Haldir simply gave me a friendly reminder.

= = = = =

When Haldir departed, he left me with these words. “Erestor. Thank you. For everything you have done for me. I did not expect to discover a friend, in Imladris or anywhere, so soon before our leave-taking. But I thank the Valar that I found you. And I hope that when the time comes, you are correct about your own resolve. Erestor, take your own advice. And mine, too, while you’re at it.”

He flashed me a smile, very charming, and left.

I slipped out of bed, and wrapped up in one of Glorfindel’s giant robes. It was heavy velvet, a dark color. Black with vine-like swirls the color of dried blood, I think.

I did not bother with shoes as I slipped from the room.

I made my way down the corridors to parts of the House with walls but no roof, and then to parts that had no walls either. My feet carefully tread the rubble between sharp stones and unsound timber. I went to the site of the library. It was the first time I visited the place since it fell four (or was it five?) years previous.

After such a long time, there was nothing remaining, nothing to be salvaged, but near the place where I had once spent untold hours in conference I found an upright foundation stone, like a sawn tree trunk, and perched myself there, folding my arms about my body, hunched in the midst of ghostly memories.

The fresh air filled my lungs and I breathed easy, recalling myself again to that old adventure in a time of the past with Glorfindel.

= = = = =

Glorfindel was going to investigate the band of men nearby in the woods. I was set on going with him.

Sneaking through the underbrush as we were in the dark of early night, I should have removed my outer robe, but I had not thought of it, so I picked up the hems and tucked them into my belt, leaving a bit of a train behind me.

We stopped a decent distance from their camp, easily skirting round the drowsing watchmen, of which there were two. We were silent, listening. The men were mostly busy. Some were wrapped up in cloaks and blankets on their little roll-out pallets, or in the narrow wagons they somehow managed to maneuver through this part of the forest. Most were gathered around two campfires, feeding themselves with whatever they’d poached off the land.

Over the sound of a strange, windy instrument cupped to one man’s mouth, I could hear them talking: crude humor, plans for the next day, the state of supplies, concerns over a mule’s hoof, someone worried about a sister at home.

I did not think they were bad man. Rough around the edges, as Glorfindel’s scout had said, but not bad.

‘Heading northwest. They’re moving toward Imladris,’ Glorfindel muttered to me. Then, his blue eyes twinkled.

‘Glorfindel, what are you-- Oh no . . . no no no, this . . . this is a bad idea. Glorfindel, we are on a schedule here; you can’t just . . . I can’t believe this.’ I couldn’t believe it, because Glorfindel flashed me a wicked smile, and marched off, right into the men’s camp.

Again, I was letting myself get frustrated. I glared at Glorfindel’s back as he emerged into the encampment, sword sheathed at his side. ‘Hi ho there, men of the roving trade! Stranger coming in!’

The men reacted fairly predictably. The bigger ones were quick to their feet, but aimed nothing more menacing than long daggers in Glorfindel’s direction, and lowered them again, seeing that he was alone and, though armed, his weapon was sheathed.

One of the eldest among them, with thinning white hair and short, grayish beard, stood slowly from a chair that seemed out of place in the camp of scattered boxes and logs. ‘Welcome, warrior o’ the firstborn. I’m Loitus. Come share our fire, if yer willin’.’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ He turned around and hollered at me, ‘Erestor! Quit lurking and come out of the shadows.’ Glorfindel sat upon an overturned bucket vacated by one of the young men. ‘Don’t mind Erestor,’ he told them as I grumbled to myself and broke through the line of trees, ‘ _He_ ’s a _scholar_.’

I approached Loitus and bowed to him. ‘I am Erestor, Chief Counselor to Elrond Peredhel of Imladris. And this scoundrel is Glorfindel. Captain of the Guard. We did not mean to intrude so late into your evening, but with these wagons you are not four days from our border. We wanted to be sure you posed us no threat.’

Loitus nodded gruffly. ‘I unde’stand. We’re but traders an’ horsemen. Don’t mean no harm to you or yourn.’

‘Good to hear,’ I reassured him. ‘And you should know: traders are not turned away from the gates of Imladris. Should you find our gates, you and your men can look forward to rooms. Meals. Lively conversation.’

Glorfindel decided to pop up. ‘I apologize for my ill manner. I never was good at introductions. But you _are_ traders? What do you have?’

One of the men who was listening stepped forward. ‘I can show you.’

‘Great!’

‘Hm,’ I wondered. ‘Do you have any books?’

= = = = =

So, while I was carefully pawing through a trunk of reading material, Glorfindel was looking at everything else. I saw him trade a few of the coins we always carry when traveling for some baked goods the men had picked up in a nearby village. I, too, parted with some silver for a few books that held men’s folklore.

‘Books, Erestor?” came the scathing attack. “You do realize you’ve got to carry those back with you?’

I glared and shoved them into his arms. ‘Why thank you, yes, I would appreciate your assistance. I’m going to look at the horses.’

Glaring, Glorfindel carefully clutched the stack of books to his chest and followed me.

The horses were kept in a makeshift paddock of rope strung along between the trees. Aside from the five cart mules, there were sixteen horses, just waiting to be bought. I was rather pleased at the variety. Most of the horses were young enough that selling them shouldn’t be a problem, and all manner of colors and patterns did they come in! Dappled grey and smooth chestnut, blazed black and patchy sorts of duns.

A few of the beasts, curious and having never seen an Elf, approached to greet me, and I was kind to them, but as my eyes roved among the herd, they were caught by an intent brown-black eye who stared at me with something more than horse-like acumen. There was a beast, tall and gangling with big hooves at the end of stick-like legs, all over the color of ripe mud, and he stared at me with a challenging eye.

When I realized that Loitus stood near, I nodded in the beast’s direction and said, ‘That horse, he is of more than earthly make. Altogether, you have here accrued a motley bunch.’

‘A-yuh,’ Loitus agreed. He went on to tell me, ‘Went through Rohan a few years back. Don’t usually part with horses that lot, but these were the bottom of the barrel so to speak; weren’t too keen to fuss with’em. So, we took ‘em right sure ‘nough. Fine horses, fine animals. Runts some of ‘em. Others too old. Got a few injured when we started; had to put two down. Sold the best along the way you know. The rest ‘ll be good for sommat: pullin’ plows, cart horses, haulin’ logs. But that one there, just picked up round down by Tharbad. Nogood they call him, cause he ain’t no good. Got a temper. Got a spirit. Distance runner that one. Thought we could break him, make him take a saddle. No doin’. Horse won’t stand fer it. Oh he runs with the rest well enough, a horse among horses you might say, but won’t really let us touch him. Could turn him loose I s’pose. Though it won’t do him no favors. Needs a herd that one. Needs mates. He coulda take off ‘fore now. Coulda run down the Old South Road or up the Hoarwell, no heed t’ us. But he stays. We can’t touch him but he stays.’

I was intrigued. I looked over, and I could see that horse staring at me, like he could look right into my head and read all my secrets. Not intrusive, just there. I loved that horse. Right away. ‘I’ll take him.’

‘What?’ I heard Glorfindel behind me, a sharp bark, incredulous.

‘Well all right son,’ the tradesman told me, ‘if you can get him to come with you, you can have him.’

‘How much?’

‘Oh,’ he held up his hands. ‘No, I can’t take your money. You take ‘im and I’ll know he’s got a good home. S’plenty ‘nough for me.’

‘All the same, I insist you take this.’ I removed the small, leather-bound bottle from my belt. ‘This is an Elvish potion,’ I told him, ‘called miruvor. One drop can sooth the pain of an injured man and help to heal him, or warm a man’s body through a night of bitter cold. Mix one drop with a bucket of water to invigorate a fatigued or hurt animal. But never more than a drop.’

The man took it with wonder in his eyes. ‘This gift is greater than you know. I cain’t thank you--’

‘Then don’t. Besides, I must thank you for this fine horse.’

Then I ducked underneath the rope that acted as a primitive paddock for the horses. They all looked curiously at me. Probably most of them had never seen an Elf before. I walked to the middle, where I found that great brown horse with dark, intelligent eyes staring at me. ‘C’mere, Nogood.’ He stared at me. ‘Let’s go.’

I turned and left the paddock.

Nogood followed.

‘Oh no,’ it started before I even got the horse past the rope, ‘No, Erestor; what are you doing? You can’t be thinking you’re going to ride that monster. Erestor? SCHEDULE, Erestor, we need to get home real quick, you remember that Erestor? Erestor! . . . I can’t believe this.’

‘A few days here or there,’ I dithered, throwing his own words back at him. ‘Elrond won’t kill us.’

Nogood seemed unaccountably amused, and sneezed at our behavior.

Just like I loved Nogood, he seemed to love me right back, and followed at my shoulder the whole way back through the trees. He let me touch his smooth, soft nose and pat the strong neck and flanks.

If, upon the return to our own camp, anyone thought is odd that we had returned with a horse, they wisely said nothing of it.

= = = = =

The following morning was a new affair altogether.

As usual, I was one of the first to awaken, and immediately checked on Nogood, who was not where I had left him the previous night: contentedly standing amongst the other horses.

It was early enough, I suppose, that no one noticed the mud brown horse with too-big feet plodding carefully around the circle of blissfully sleeping Elves. Nogood was careful on his hooves, the same way a restless child sneaks through night-darkened hallways, until he came to Glorfindel.

I could practically feel my head canting further and further to the side as I watched. Nogood might have liked me, but he either liked Glorfindel more, or enjoyed teasing him as much as I did, for he began to eat the pile of golden hair that was spread over the grassy ground.

Of its own accord, my hand rose to cover my mouth, to cover my smile.

Glorfindel twisted and turned, almost awake, and Nogood spit the saliva-wad ends of Glorfindel’s hair back out, and then backed slowly away.

Not much later a disgusted, “Oh . . . GROSS!” rang out over the half-open clearing.

= = = = =

That was the beginning of the war between Glorfindel and Nogood.

But that morning, Nogood and I had our own disagreement. I was attempting to strap on the blanket and belts that would allow him to carry supplies, as the other horses, but every time I threw the blanket on, he wheeled his head around, gently grasped it in yellowish teeth and pulled it off.

After five or six such displays, I was willing to give up. If he didn’t want to, or wasn’t ready, I wasn’t going to force him. Neither would I attempt to mount him.

And while Glorfindel was off washing his hair somewhere, I spoke to the rest of the group to let them know I’d be falling behind, walking on foot to accustom myself to Nogood and he to me.

No one argued. Good for them.

Once everyone was actually clean and packed and mounted and ready to go, however, Glorfindel approached. ‘Erestor,’ Glorfindel pointed out as he watched his soldiers take my old mount, ‘that’s your horse.’

‘No, now this is my horse.’

‘You can’t ride him.’

‘Not yet,’ I agreed.

‘You gonna walk home then?’ he wanted to know.

‘Yeah. I’ll see you there.’

He touched his fingers to his forehead as though to ward off a pain there. ‘I can’t believe this,’ I heard him mumble. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he grumbled under his breath, shooing his own horse in the direction of the others after grabbing a supply bag off it. ‘Elrond would kill me if I left you alone.’

I flashed him my most charming smile.

= = = = =

Glorfindel huffed and moaned quite a bit in the beginning, as we watched the mounted party quickly disappear off ahead of us, and I reminded him as often as I dared that he was in no way obligated to indulge my eccentricities.

Meanwhile, Nogood walked directly behind me. Sometimes I saw the rhythmic bobbing of his head in my peripheral vision, and sometimes he nosed my shoulder in some sign of affection.

I couldn’t connect mentally with him the way I could with some animals. That was all right. Nogood was a challenge, and a real smart horse; there was a remarkable intelligence in those expressive brown-black eyes. I was eager to interact with him.

But not while Glorfindel was around. He walked afore us and kept shooting nasty looks over his shoulder.

The two of us could keep pointless grudges to a remarkable degree.

= = = = =

Our pace was not fast through the wood, but we did not stop until nightfall, where Glorfindel, constantly grumbling, set to making a fire.

Against my better judgment, I left Nogood alone with him while I went a way into the trees to bathe in the stream we’d been traveling roughly parallel with.

I’d always found water in any form to be a cleansing entity, and there was something inherently magical about running water. I felt not only the sweat and dirt but also the pains and toils of travel wash away. My mind was cleared, my heart eased, so that I might reflect calmly upon the past day. I thought on Nogood, who was -- I was certain -- a good horse. He would be a loyal and worthy companion to me for many years, the sort that is not only felt from the beginning, but that would also be hard-won through the course of time and patient coaching.

And then there was Glorfindel, one whom I resented, trusted, aggravated, loved, and had known a long time already. Loved, then, not in a romantic way, though surely it must have started somewhere, somehow. Glorfindel, who already had developed an understandable loathing of the intelligent horse who I’d claimed as my own.

When I was clean and relatively dry and clothed, I made my slow way back to our pitiful camp.

I stopped short, for there before me was a sight I do not think I shall ever forget.

There was the fire. On one side, Glorfindel: arms nearly crossed, munching on his share of lembas gifted to us by the Galadrim for our short return journey. He was staring intently over the fire.

Nogood stood there, his nose not far from the flames, staring intently at Glorfindel, and not moving a muscle. Just staring.

Glorfindel stared back. He stuck out his tongue.

So did Nogood.

He crossed his eyes.

Nogood swished his ears.

Glorfindel continued making faces, each more comical than the last, at the horse until I could stand it no longer and burst out laughing.

Simultaneously, both campers swung their heads over to stare at me, and both seemed equally contrite.

= = = = =

Those were good days, all of them were good. As I sat there in the colorless, ragged ruins of Imladris barely conscious of the descending night, I thought back on all of it. On the horse, Nogood, who had become the most faithful and worthy mount I had ever known. I wished he and Asfaloth had lived at the same time. Each would have given the other a run for his money.

On those four days of travel, Nogood certainly showed his lack of appreciation for our supposedly higher race. And Glorfindel was not alone in these shows; I too was often at the butt end of Nogood’s shenanigans. My personal favorite was three days in, when he snuck away to roll in a great pile of mud. He returned while we were still half-asleep to shake it all over. Glorfindel had chased the horse off into the trees (as though he was going to catch him) as I shouted myself hoarse about inappropriate behavior. We still hadn’t been quite clean by the time we arrived home, two dirt-smeared Elves and a mud-brown horse, who stank worse than anything Elves were accustomed to smelling even on a bad day in the stables.

Nogood developed a remarkable reputation in Imladris. No stall could hold him; every bolt we developed he would soon outwit. It was not uncommon to find him in the gardens, or climbing the front stairs to the house.

One eve he made it all the way to the Hall of Fire, and we let him stay. Everyone patted his sides and offered him sugar and apples and called him a ‘clever horse’ and he didn’t let us forget it.

He was also well known for hiding things. He would make off with this or that and hide it away somewhere and knowingly swish his tail when we finally realized he’d taken it.

And Nogood, like Glorfindel, was remarkably gentle with children. That, in fact, was a point on which they were uncannily similar: both of them strong, giant creatures with mischievous reputations who could never say no to a child and would play all the day long with the Elflings if they were allowed. Since I traveled little, and I was the only one (at least the only adult) Nogood ever consented to carry, the horse actually spent a good deal of time with the children in the meadows. Parents, at first, were worried, but in nearly no time at all, they would let Nogood wander past the huts and homes and the children would all come out and trail after him in a line to the fields where he alone would supervise their play. They would climb on him and kick his sides enthusiastically and pull his tail and he endured it with steadfast good humor. The same, incidentally, could be said of Glorfindel, who the children also adored, though he had far less time for them.

Nogood. ‘He ain’t no good,’ Loitus had said. Certainly not for much of anything useful. Nogood was the sort of nuisance that I hope everyone had the opportunity to meet at least once in a lifetime.

I sat on my bit of rubble and remembered all this, remembered how Nogood and Glorfindel would race across any open space, how Glorfindel sometimes nearly won.

Nogood, as I had always guessed, proved to have more than earthly blood in his horse-veins. After I adopted him (and who knows how long he lived previously) he resided with me in Imladris for nearly sixty years. A long and good and decent life. He passed away quickly one night in his stable. Peaceful. I was glad.

I remember that moment, sitting alone with the horse, patting the length of his great nose and whispering a few words now and then. By the end, Nogood and I had come to a deep understanding, bordering nearly on language. He had accepted his imminent death with fearless grace, and I did the same. He and I had prepared, had known, had not fought fate.

So in the early hours of the morning, my eyes had been dry. But Glorfindel, who had heard the news, ran in with tears streaming down sad-pale cheeks.

I’d never seen him cry before, and for a moment it was awkward. I embraced him and he hugged me fiercely in return. It was odd.

Neither before Nogood nor since have I ever called any horse my own nor grown so close.

And there I was, perched upon the skeletal remains of my house of learning, recalling these few things that, in recent times, I had been too busy to remember.

“Erestor. Are you all right?”

I looked up. “Lindir? It’s dark. What are you doing up and about?”

The pretty minstrel shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.” I looked up. Clouds patched the sky, but between them I could see the stars in places. “I lost track of time. But yes. I’m fine.” I looked again at Lindir, who had made his careful silent way across the ruins to me. His hair was longer than I could ever remember seeing it. Nearly to his knees, and white and wisping about his head as though it weighed little more than fairy dust. His sea-glass, pale eyes were concerned. Old and weary. His shirt and trousers hung ragged from his form and he looked at me. “Would you like to share a glass of wine with me?” I asked.

He smiled. “Very much, Erestor.”

= = = = =

Each day that passed in this last year of Imladris was as long and lethargic as no other days I had ever lived.

Tremors continued to move the land under our feet until little more than the clump of the Hall of Fire and a few rooms that spiderwebbed out from it still stood. Including the one I had adopted, of course.

Though I still had my walks with Haldir, my meals with Lindir, this and that and the other thing with various persons throughout What Was Left of the House, I lost touch with my frail reality, for I longed so ardently for Glorfindel. To have him again near, close to me, knowing me only the way he did, to hold me, to touch me for the first time in something more than friendship, to feel him close to my heart, to talk to him, to make my confessions, to love him.

= = = = =

But the long-awaited sound of Asfaloth’s hooves upon Imladris’ Welcoming Stone did not come.

Instead, one evening, as I lay naked between the sheets of Glorfindel’s bed, relishing the joys of half-drunken fantasies, lightly scraping a fingernail over sensitized nipples, thinking about guiding my hand further down, the door was suddenly thrown open.

“Just what do you think--” Glorfindel boomed, filling the doorway. I ceased breathing. “Erestor?” He was utterly caught off-guard, I could see.

But the state he was in! I’d never seen anything like it. His hair was absolutely wild, snarled in unforgiving tangles all caught up with burs and stickers and few tenacious leaves, like a wild thing. And there was a shock of shorter hair that hung just to his eyes, curling over his forehead in matted knots.

What was left of his gray cloak hung in nothing but tatters from broad shoulders. The rest of his clothes were no better off, torn in great holes and dirty; half his left trouser leg was missing and one boot had been poorly repaired, held together with rags and wrapped twine.

His looks were fierce, his eyes utterly wild: wide blue that flashed and darted like a nervous animal. He was wounded in several places, most noticeably a gash in his upper arm that was still bleeding, dripping red circles in a muffled split-splat to the carpet.

“Glorfindel!” I jumped out of bed, stumbled a little, took a step toward him, and then halted altogether.

It was the way he was looking at me that froze me in my place. His eyes, feral already, widened and he, too, froze, his eyes raking up and down my naked body, straying frequently to my aroused member. For a moment, his breathing halted, and then resumed shallow and fast. “Erestor, you’re in my room.”

“Yes.”

“In my bed.”

“Yes.”

“Naked.”

“Well, yes,” I admitted. (It wasn’t as though I could convince him otherwise.) “Yes, my room--”

“Is gone,” he finished. “I saw. There’s hardly anything left.”

“Glorfindel. You look half-mad. What happened? I never heard Asfaloth!! Is he--”

“Fine,” Glorfindel assured me, seemingly incapable of looking at anything but my revealed skin. “I left him with some good people to the south. He . . . It is best for him.”

“And you?”

Finally, Glorfindel dropped his eyes. He looked to the floor and then down at himself, as though only just noticing his own appearance. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been alone,” he haltingly explained, “for a while.”

“And that?” I pointed to the bleeding wound in his arm.

“I was wrestling.”

“With what?” I asked incredulously.

“A bear.”

“. . . I . . . see.” I obviously didn’t.

“For fun.”

“Did you win?”

“Not exactly.”

I sighed. “Well, you’re no madder than anyone else around this place.” I carefully navigated my way around the bed, not getting too close to him. The old copper tub that we’d been trading around the rooms was still warm with my leftover, relatively clean bath water. But I gestured Glorfindel over to the washbasin, where I poured in clean, cold river water from the pitcher. He hesitantly followed. “Take off your shirt,” I instructed.

“What?”

“Take off your shirt.” I felt inane, having to repeat myself. Usually, Glorfindel and I understood one another better than that.

As for myself, I thought about putting on some clothes . . . but I just didn’t.

I reached out to fight the knotted cord that held Glorfindel’s cloak together as he unbuttoned the top of his shirt so he could pull it over his head after the cape fell away. I suddenly understood the fascination of staring at skin, at a lover’s nude body.

I pulled my eyes from the sight of his chest, broad with sharply defined musculature, now patterned with an array of bruises, scratches, and a few recently closed cuts. I dipped the washcloth into the pure water and wrung it out. I wiped away the blood and dirt on his arm and rinsed the cloth before gently running it over the wound. Glorfindel hissed through his teeth and bit back a moan.

We all had small medical kits in our rooms. I hadn’t used mine for anything worse than a paper cut, but I retrieved it now to swab the open cut with alcohol, cover it with a salve, and then bind it tight with a roll of gauze. “Is that the worst of it?”

Glorfindel nodded. “Thank you.” Then he reached up a hand, as though he would touch my face.

I stepped back. “You’re filthy,” I told him gently. “This water is near clean enough. Why don’t you take a bath? I’ll pick out all that mulch from your hair.” I tried a smile.

Grinning guiltily, Glorfindel stripped off the rest of his clothes. I counted his bruises instead of looking at . . . something else, and gave him my hand to keep his balance as he climbed into the tub. His knees barely broke the surface when he sat back and for a moment he just relaxed, arms spread along the oval rim.

I knelt behind the tub with a comb. It took me a long time to pick out all the foliage, the stubborn burs and stickers, to unravel the many matted tangles until the mane of gold hung relatively straight and free in my hands. Meanwhile, Glorfindel had taken up that soap of his and a cloth to clean his body, careful to keep the bandage on his arm dry. He stood at the finish of these mundane, routine, wonderful new things, unknowingly removing his mass of hair from my hands. The water sluiced off his perfect body in sheets for a moment and I fumbled for a towel to wrap him in.

Glorfindel matter-of-factly dried himself, dropped the towel over the back of a chair, and then stood there, looking at me. “What are you doing here?” he asked me.

“After my room fell,” I told him, “this was the only place I wanted to come. To live.” I frightened myself for a moment, feeling hot tears spill over onto my cheeks, not knowing why such a confession should demand weeping. I dashed them away with the back of my hand and looked to the fire, burning low, or to the floor or anywhere but at Glorfindel. “I missed you so much.” I could not keep my voice steady.

“Erestor, I thought about you. Every moment.”

“Things finally make sense for us. Don’t they?” I wanted to know, meeting his eyes.

“The Elves have reached an end here on this Middle Earth. And so have we,” he agreed, meaning the two of us as friends. Then he, too, looked away. “Will you stay at my side, Erestor? Stay with me?”

“Be with you?” I asked, unable to hide the quavering of my answer. “Forever?”

“Well,” Glorfindel faltered; he didn’t want to pressure me. How sweet. “Forever is a long time.”

“Too long?”

“No,” he shakily whispered, “not too long.”

“Good.” I smiled and laughed. “When did you realize it?” I wondered, a childlike exuberance in the question.

“After I gave Asfaloth away; the first night I truly was alone under the stars. As I made my lonely bed of leaves beneath the brambles and brakes on the southern edge of the forest, I knew I loved you more than I thought a heart could love. But I wasn’t finished with my goodbyes to the land. And you?”

I smiled and sat on the bed. “Do you know Haldir? Of Lorien?”

Glorfindel thought a moment. “The proud one.”

I laughed, “Yes! He’s here, with Celeborn. I was confronting him on the subject of his own love when he turned the tables on me, asking questions I’d never been brave enough to ask myself. I was just blown away. It made an unbelievable amount of sense, and then hurt so much, because you weren’t with me.”

“I’m so sorry!” Glorfindel begged, falling to his knees in a swift and graceful move, stretching out cautious hands to seek my own. “I’m so sorry,” he said again, his eyes welling with tears.

“Oh no,” I shook my head and leaned forward, flicking the strange, short lock of hair from before his eyes. “You had to go; I knew that. I had to stay here; I knew that too. But now we’re together.”

“Forever,” he laughed, letting the tears fall, and dry on his cheeks, and disappear. He kept looking into my eyes and then laughed again, before sobering and telling me in a rumble, “I want you.”

“It’s about time,” I whispered, “Come here.” I scooted back on the big bed, and Glorfindel followed, crawling up on hands and knees like some great jungle cat, his hair falling everywhere around him, his eyes wide and wanting, his dark mouth slightly parted.

I was half reclined on the messy covers and pillows and couldn’t stop myself reaching out, hooking my hands around his arm or his hair, to pull him in to meet me, to settle beside me, to caress my face like he’d wanted to before, to kiss my eyes closed, to stroke my arm, to hold me close, like our own paradise was built between us with nothing more than eyes and mouths and bodies and love and pain, because we were too old for anything to ever be entirely painless.

I couldn’t stop touching him. Hot he was, windless summer afternoon hot, kitchen stove hot, bonfire hot, furnace hot, burn me hot, burn me good. I couldn’t keep from wrapping my arms around him and pulling him close, never-let-go close, and breathing in the aching scent of him, the woodsy musky sunflowery Imladris-forever-autumn scent of him.

He rumbled a laugh near my ear, “You’ve been using my soap.”

“What’s yours is mine,” I told him with a bubbling energy like laughter in my throat, “and what’s mine is yours, but I don’t have anything, so you’re out of luck.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

“Damn well better,” I said, letting him pull back just enough so we could look at each other without our eyes crossing. Wordless ways, said our eyes; we were back to our wordless ways, I know you you know me inside out and forever.

We kissed, who moved first I don’t know, doesn’t matter, we kissed. The pulsing strong and hot in our veins. Mouths mating, lips sliding, tongues sweeping teeth, and breathing of each other like one being. Skin on skin on skin all over, smooth and bare and it was the most natural thing in the world, like breathing, like singing. This hunger, this hunger so sweet, like poetry read slow in winter. There was the physical and the something else that bled together like the pleasantest harmonizing of the prettiest melody to make the most perfect song in the world just for us, between us, of us. Nothing less than magic.

I pulled away regretfully, slinking across the bed to clumsily grab for the small bottle of perfume in the drawer of the bedside table. It was an oil that Glorfindel used sometimes during the feasting days, and I spun the top off it and the scent of some homely flower overpowered the room. There wasn’t much in the bottle, only enough to coat Glorfindel’s hardness and my own fingers.

Glorfindel whined like a wounded animal when I touched him so intimately, and then again when he watched me insert my own fingers into my body. It felt good, and I let him know it. With my eyes. With my body.

I crooned to him when I touched the secret place within me. I let him know. He watched with fire-glazed eyes, and stroked himself too.

I lay on my back and parted my legs and drew him close and over me. He sat up and then back, on his knees, and pulled my hips easily up onto his thighs, so that I was straddling his lap, but still spread out upon the bed like some sacrifice, my legs flung to either side of him, my hands catching nothing in their fervent grasping as he entered me, long slow not-stopping thrust oh! Like a clear-ringing bell in my body, oh! Like the sudden revelation of love or a sunset, oh! Like the undiluted pleasure of orgasm, oh! Already building, building since the moment we met, since he left, since he returned, since he touched me. Building now, the crescendo, the rush, the rise, the flood, the inferno, the deluge; how can we be all these things? But we were.

We shouted, not words, just noises, like beasts do, the meanings clear enough. Yes, more, pleasure, unbelievable, give, yes. Until he pulled me up and I really was straddling his lap, looking down on him, but still so close, closer than anything ever ever. So close, the way we wanted, needed, the way we craved, so deep, soul-deep.

That’s the way I rode him, almost slow, down and kiss, up and look, feeling every move, every stroke inside me, burning. Every place his fingers touched burned like the summer sun, every place his lips touched until my mouth, my everything was aflame.

Until reason was gone, control was gone, pain was gone -- if only briefly. There was only he, and I, and this feeling grown impossibly strong between us that was ultimately physical but so intense that it had to be, HAD to be more.

Until tears bled out our overwhelmed senses, and sweat freed the intoxicating heat, and our voices were the only other exit left to release the impossible pleasure-pressure.

I think we shook what was left of the House.

Then, nothing but pleasure, cognizance a thing that was secondary, as was breathing.

The release that followed was a high unmatched, making ordinary debauchery just ordinary, drunkenness laughable, obliterating all other joys and redefining the very meaning of pleasure forever.

We collapsed, like another wave of fixtures in the House just falling apart, sprawling onto the bed and keening and huffing and trembling and still clawing at one another, refusing to let go, to let go.

As though our breath had been stolen from us, we fought to recapture it, as though our muscles had betrayed us, we struggled to command them.

Until we wound together in a puddled, perfume-scented, sweaty-sticky, love-murmuring mass.

Until the chill forced us to find the blankets and pull them over us.

Until we were finally in one another’s arms.

Until we could breathe again.

Until we slept.

= = = = =

Morning did not wake us. Valar only know how long we would have slept, being content to remain so as long as we were together.

But an insistent knocking woke us.

Glorfindel opened his eyes. “They don’t know I’m here.”

“They do,” I corrected, “if they heard us last night.” But I got up anyway.

Shrugging on one of Glorfindel’s oversized robes, I bent down to give him a kiss before giving up a huge sigh and striding over to the door.

On the other side I found Lindir, looking worried, and Haldir, looking smug. Not that Haldir ever looked anything else these days.

“There was blood,” Lindir said with that overriding concern, pointing to the trail on the floor.

“There was ‘noise,’” Haldir said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Glorfindel’s back,” I told them. “He’s fine. Really.”

Lindir smiled with relief, his sea-glass pale eyes lightening. “Oh Elrond will be glad.” Lindir had an innate sense of what was happening around him, though didn’t often make a point of showing it. But he told me, “Will the both of you come to dinner tonight?”

“We’ll be there,” I promised, and then Lindir bowed and retreated down the hall, in all likelihood to spread the news.

Haldir leered at me.

“What?”

He shook his head. “How was it?”

“Don’t be crude.”

“How was it?”

“Beyond any concept previously known to Elves. Now go away, Haldir, and we’ll talk later.”

“All right.” He winked before I could close the door and I shook my head at his foolishness.

Then Glorfindel and I lay in bed all day, telling one another of the past years.

= = = = =

We all ate dinner in the kitchen, everyone in Imladris but for Elrond, and it was the rowdiest we had been since before the first collapse. We talked and joked, and later we sang and Lindir played a pair of drums so that we might dance.

We told Glorfindel a little bit about Elrond’s reclusive behavior and, like Celeborn, he wasted no time marching right out of the kitchen to the dining chamber and through that into the Hall of Fire. After dinner, the rest of us lounged throughout half of the abandoned dining chamber, the other half of it being gone. After nearly an hour, Glorfindel emerged, calm and serious to say to Elrond’s sons, “He wants to speak with you.”

Then Elladan and Elrohir disappeared within and shut the door behind them and did not come out again.

= = = = =

Glorfindel and I made an art of transforming the night into a time when there was only us, only love.

= = = = =

Three days later, the twins appeared again and told us to prepare to leave.

= = = = =

Three days after that, we all stood in the too-early morning almost-light. Horses stood all in a clump outside the gates, but we stood in the cracked-stone forecourt by the muck-infested remains of the fountain.

We waited in the odd, early-morning light, the strange untouchable moment after the night-creatures have gone abed, but before the birds awakened. The stars were just dulling, and the sun only hinted a presence in the easternmost reaches of the domed sky, and the silence was painful. When I was a child, I called it the ‘twitter-light.’

Twitter-light was upon us that day as we waited, as we watched Elrond emerge from the crooked doorway. We did not greet him, but the small group parted and he looked to me and I gestured him to lead. He looked . . . different. Old.

And when he set foot upon the Welcoming Stone of Imladris, the final remnants of the Last Homely House gave up their hold, collapsing not in a rumble, but with a sound and a feeling that could never be mistaken for anything other than a sigh that had been held for near five thousand years.

I alone turned to witness it, the final shudder and release, the rising dust.

Glorfindel took my hand and gently tugged. I followed him.

The gates fell at our passing.

We mounted our horses and took the road to the ford.

Leaves, too long orange and brown, brightened to a thousand shades of green as Elrond rode by them.

= = = = =

The road west for us held little but peace and sorrow. Our songs were sad, our passage dawdling. We rode in weary silence for much of the time, weighed still by thoughts, mourning always our changing lives, missing what once was, what could have been, what might have been. But Glorfindel and I could never be unhappy for long.

And when we set foot upon the rocking deck of the gray ship that would bear us, we felt our hearts beat in time with the motion of it and could not help the smiles.

Elrond’s sons did not join us.

I did not know if they would someday follow, but I did not have it in my heart to trouble Elrond with the question. I remember later asking, later when the ropes mooring us to the dock were thrown aside and the ship moved out under the stars, asking Glorfindel, “Will he always lose the ones he loves?”

Glorfindel had no answer for me.

I did not expect one.

= = = = =

So it was done. Another long stretch of life, on a good and wonderful place, and we would all be going home.

Not all my questions were answered. Maybe they never would be.

But I had my Glorfindel, and together we were, and together we stood at the starboard side. He wrapped his great arms around me from behind and together we watched the mystifying shapes in the night-darkness. “This is the same way I came, if you can believe it. A quiet ship in the night,” I whispered. “My mother always said I should travel posh.”

“Posh?” he asked me softly.

I nodded. “Port Out. Starboard Home.”

“Home.” He looked west, then over my shoulder, off into the night. “You look to the North?” he asked.

I nodded. “North. The last mystery, the home of our guiding star, no matter where we are.”

“I see.”

We looked to that star.

Then, we looked to each other.

And didn’t look elsewhere for a very long time.

= = = = =

The end.


End file.
